


A Safe Haven

by princesskay



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 194,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Miranda Gulch Ranch is Bill Trumper's last chance. If he doesn't change his rebellious and delinquent ways, his rich and influential parents just might let him be carted off to juvenile detention. Having no desire to be stuck out on a horse ranch in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by strangers, Bill thinks he's in for the worst month of his life. That is, until he lays eyes on the Vice President of the Ranch, Mr. Tom Kaulitz.</p><p>The Miranda is Tom Kaulitz's last chance too. Running from a dark, tormented past, he's happy to spend his days in the anonymity of a vast horse ranch in Montana. When difficult, unruly teen, Bill Trumper, shows up as a long term guest, Tom realizes he's not what everyone thinks. Tom knows from bitter experience that not everyone is who they seem to be, especially when that person is hiding secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Guest

Day 1

The low rumble of a truck engine and the grinding of stones beneath broad tires heralded the arrival of the newest resident to Miranda Gulch Ranch. All the hands and a few of the guests were lined up by the front gate to watch the parade of three black SUVs travel down the dirt road and wind through the open gates of the Ranch. It was a sight to behold, considering that Miranda didn't usually get this much attention or excitement. For Montana, it was rather small; some ranches could stretch on for hundreds of acres, but Miranda only had a measly fifteen to her name.

Behind the dark lenses of his Ray Bans, vice president of the Miranda, and overseer of most of the Ranch's physical aspect, Tom Kaulitz, observed the newcomer with distrust. Natalie Franz, founder and bosswoman, had told him all about their new arrival just a day ago. The conservation was still clear in his head – the guest was to be treated with the utmost care, politeness, and generosity. It was a _special_ case. Natalie hadn't really said why, but her expression had been dead serious. 

Tom hoisted a foot onto the lowest rung of the fence and chomped on a piece of wild grass he had snatched up on the way to the crowd that now lingered at the front gate. He didn't like big crowds, even if they only consisted of a snobby group of teenage girls, an elderly couple, and a trio of friends staying at the ranch for some male bonding. All the ranch hands were assembled as well, most of them crowding around Tom for information. Sometimes it really didn't benefit to be in charge.

Tom looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Natalie was standing nearby, wearing her standard sequined cowgirl shirt, jeans, shiny black boots, and a distant smile.

“You look a little unhappy.” She observed, squinting against the bright glow of a setting sun.

“I don't see what the big fuss is all about.” Tom grumbled, taking the grass out of his mouth and tossing it over the fence, “Who is this guy anyway?”

Natalie shrugged and assumed Tom's bent position against the fence, “I got the call yesterday, saying he was coming. They put down a lot of money to stash him away here for a whole month.”

Tom arched a brow, “A whole month? Most guests only stay for a week, two at most.”

Natlie brushed stray strands of blond tendrils from her cheek and gave another shrug, “It doesn't matter to me. Their money is helping keep this place open for another year.”

“So, who's 'they' if only 'he' is coming?” Tom asked, intrigued.

Natalie gave him a knowing look, “His parents.”

Tom swung his head to gaze the three black SUVs as they passed through the front gates swung around the drive to park in front of the main house. Before he could ask anymore questions, Natalie pushed away from the fence and started off across the lawn to greet the extravagant guest.

Tom quickly followed, curious to see this person. Natalie's tone of voice had suggested that 'he' was younger, perhaps rebellious. Did the parents think this was some sort of rehab? If so, they would be sorely disappointed. There were no trained counselors here, no hikes to commune with nature, or other teens he could relate with. There was just Natalie and Tom running the show, a couple of ranch hands that had worked here since Miranda's opening, and plenty of beautiful and loving horses. Natalie had opened the ranch as a sort of vacation spot, but Tom had noticed Miranda tended to attract the broken-hearted, and in some cases, fix them.

As Tom approached the flashy trucks, he spotted one figure in the center of it all. From his height, Tom might have expected him to be older, but when the boy turned, Tom glimpsed a youthful, rounded face full of big, dark eyes, an upturned nose, and perky lips set into a dissatisfied pout. His brows were drawn into a taut frown and his long, thin arms were crossed over his narrow chest. Shoulders slouched and expression sullen, the boy made it very clear that he did not want to be at the Miranda, or anywhere near it, for that matter. Dark wisps of shoulder-length hair passed like a curtain over his eyes just as Tom thought they were about to make eye contact.

Tom swallowed hard as the boy's appearance gave him a jerk. If Tom had not been formerly informed, he might have thought the young man was girl. He was very thin, but had feminine hips that flared out to form petite, but round ass, and his fingernails were painted a daring black. 

Now, Tom wasn't just curious; he was hooked.

Fighting his way through a tight circle of guests and hands, Tom found his place at Natalie's side. The commanding and sometimes intimidating boss had come down from her throne to greet the sullen boy with an outstretched hand, a bright smile, and a soft tone.

“Miranda Gulch is very happy to have you, Bill.”

Tom frowned softly, wondering what such an enchanting little creature was doing stuck with such a plain name as 'Bill.'

Bill ignored Natalie's hand and mumbled something indiscernible under his breath. Tom, though struck by the boy's sinfully good looks, was momentarily angered by his impolite attitude.

Tom moved around Natalie and extended his own hand, “I'm Tom Kaulitz, VP here and head honcho. . .and normally we say 'please' and 'thank you' on the Miranda.”

The boy's eyes jerked up from the ground, meeting Tom's with a flare of rebellion, “I didn't ask to be sent here,  _please_ and  _thank you._ ” 

Tom's mouth drifted open as the frustrating young man turned on his heel and shouldered his way past the onlookers, his arms crossed, his head bent.

An older, distinguished looking man – a part of Bill's entourage – rushed forward, distressed, “Mr. Kaulitz, is it? . . .I'm very sorry, sir. And you too, Miss Franz. Bill is a sweet boy, he's just. . . unaccustomed to change.”

“And you are?” Tom demanded, gulled by Bill's behavior.

“I'm Peter Hoffman, Mr. Trumper's. . .um. . .nanny would you say?” He chuckled slightly, and shook Tom's hand, “Again, I apologize.”

“It's quite all right.” Natalie stepped in, diplomatic as ever, “We understand there's a complicated situation here?”

“Yes, well. . .” Peter glanced around at the crowd that still watched them intently, “I'd prefer to discuss that matter in private.”

Tom glanced over at Natalie with a questioning eye. What could be so complicated that it would make a young man of obviously good heritage forget his manners? What was so hard about a handshake?

Natalie shook her head and then motioned to the main house, “We have food and drinks inside if you would like?”

“Certainly, a coffee would be nice after that long ride.” Peter agreed, genially, “First, I have to find Bill though.”

“I'll look for him.” Tom volunteered, “I know this ranch backwards and forwards. It's easy to get lost, sir.”

“Very well. Don't be too long. I might send out the cavalry.” Peter smiled kindly, but Tom wondered if there was any veracity to his statement.

He also wondered if Bill acted this way on a day to day basis. Was it often that poor Mr. Hoffman had to send out the cavalry after the contrary young man?

Tom took off in the direction he had seen Bill go, following a set of defined footprints – rather large and bearing the imprints of a sole and a narrow heel – until he met the grass. He ambled past the rings where they exercised and trained the horses each day, before glimpsing Bill's figure on the horizon. The boy was leaned against the fence that enclosed the stallions while they grazed – a calm, contemplative sight. Tom himself had leaned in that very place more than once, considering what his life had become in the past six years.

Tom quickly ran through what he might say to Bill as he approached, crunching through the grass loudly to make his presence known. When he reached Bill's side, the boy didn't even acknowledge him.

“Look, maybe I came on too strongly.” Tom admitted, leaning his elbows on the fence, “Maybe we can start over?” 

Bill kept glaring at the ground for a few moments before looking up. He shrugged, “I guess.”

“Cool.” Tom held out his hand, “I'm Tom. What's your name?”

Bill frowned, confused for a few seconds before shrugged, “Bill.”

“It's nice to meet you Bill.” Tom shook the slight, smooth hand that Bill uneasily offered, “I like your style, Bill.”

Bill's frown deepened and he glanced down at his outfit – torn jeans, a slim-fitting T-shirt with a band logo, and biker boots, the square-toed kind, with a studded strap across the instep. A thin, black collar with a little cross dangling between his collarbones circled Bill's throat and two individual rings flashed in his tongue and right eyebrow.

“You do?” He asked, sounded bewildered.

“Yeah. I can see you express your personality very well.”

Bill's shoulders lost a bit of tension and flicked a quick tongue out over his lower lip, “Well, I guess you already saw that.”

Tom nodded slowly, “Look, Miss Franz told me you're going to be here for a whole month.”

“Yeah.” Bill said, dourly.

“Why don't you try to make the best of it? We're not the biggest, most prestigious ranch in Montana, but we do try our hardest to make our guests comfortable and enjoy their time here. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think.”

Bill thought about it for a moment, chewing on his lower lip, with a sharp, canine-like tooth, “Is everyone as nice as you?”

Tom blinked, surprised by Bill's new opinion of him. At last, he motioned toward the main house, “Why don't you come back and find out?”

Bill nodded and pushed away from the fence, “I guess.”

The answer was noncommittal and grudging at best, but at least he wasn't spitting out rude comments and walking away.

“Come on.” Tom hooked his chin toward the house, and led the way.

Bill lagged behind, his hands shoved in his pockets, his chin down. Tom quietly wondered what had made an obviously smart, outgoing kid like Bill walk around all the time with his head down and his feet dragging. He was sure it was none of his business, but he aimed to find out. Bill was going to be here for a month, and Tom was beginning to wonder if it wouldn't be as terrible as either of them had first assumed.

 

~

 

It was dark by the time dinner on the ranch wrapped up. The cooks had paraded out a seemingly endless supply of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob, followed by simply decadent slices of apple pie. After a hard day's work, dinner made everything worth it.

Most of Bill's group stayed for dinner, but Hoffman relayed to Natalie and Tom that only he and Bill would be staying for the month. The rest of the rather large entourage would be headed back the airport, and then L.A. Tom had to raise his eyebrows at the fact that Bill had come all the way from California to visit their little ranch that had barely managed to stay open through the last harsh winter.

But more than the surprising news of Bill's distant home was that the fact that Bill chose to sit next to Tom during dinner. He didn't say much and kept his head down and his fork shoveling into a shocking two servings of food, but Tom was touched by the gesture. He wondered what would have happened if he had been polite to Bill from the very beginning.

As the plates were being cleared away, Tom glanced over at Bill, whispering, “So, what do you think?”

Bill gave a brief smile and glanced up at Tom through a fringe of impossibly long, dark lashes, “I think I never eat this good back home. ..which is hard to beat.” 

Tom smiled, pleased by the positive change in Bill's attitude, “What do you have back home?”

“Oh, you know. . .” Bill shrugged, “Gordon tries to shove caviar and shit down my thorat.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. Caviar? Bill paired caviar with shit? Where did this kid come from?

Instead of making a remark at the hefty expense of caviar, Tom asked, “Who's Gordon?”

“My stepdad.” Bill's face screwed up, “The guy responsible for banishing me to this place.”

“Hey, now.” Tom admonished, quietly, “Is the company so terrible?”

Bill shrugged, shyly sucking on his lower lip, “I guess not.”

A sharp dinging of silverware against glass, turned Bill's and Tom's heads toward the end of the table where Natalie was standing to get everyone's attention, “Everyone, I want to thank you all for your consistent hard work, and the extra effort in getting out new guest settled in today.” She smiled as she turned to look at Bill, “We're pleased to have Bill Trumper here with us for the month.”

Everyone turned around in there seats to find Bill at the dinner table, smiling brightly and offering 'hello's'. Bill shrank down in his seat, his cheeks turning crimson as he was singled out.

“And also, his. . .friend, Mr. Peter Hoffman.” Natalie continued, noting Bill's embarrassment.

Peter gave a friendly wave to everyone, which was abundantly returned.

“Now, everyone get some good night's sleep because not only do we have a lot of work tomorrow, but we also have this week's horse show, presented by Mr. Kaulitz and the hands.”

A gasp of excitement circulated around the room, and the group of teenage girls began to whisper among themselves about watching the cowboys do tricks with the horses.

“I'm glad you're looking forward to it.” Natalie grinned, “Everyone, have a nice night, and see you tomorrow.”

The crowded mess hall began to disassemble when Natalie left the table and headed upstairs to her office. Normally, Tom followed her and they finished the night with a glass of wine and final discussion over the day's accomplishments and events. Tonight, Tom felt as if he had another responsibility to take of before meeting with Natalie.

“A horse show, huh?” Bill was looking at Tom as if he had withheld some sort of very important information.

“Yeah, its just a little something me and the rest of the guys put together for the guests.” Tom shrugged.

“No biggie?” Bill arched his pierced brow.

Tom chuckled, “I hope you enjoy it. I certainly do.”

They both looked up when Peter came to Bill's side, putting a hand on the young boy's shoulder, “Are you ready for bed, Bill?”

Bill sighed, his attitude reemerging, “Its only ten o'clock.”

“Miss Franz informed me that most of the guests and hands are up by eight.” Peter warned.

“What? Eight o'clock?” Bill exclaimed, disdain twisting his pretty features, “That's ridiculous! I'm not getting up at fucking eight-”

“Language, Bill.” Peter cut in.

Bill huffed, sinking down in his seat with his arms crossed, “I'm still not getting up that early.”

“Peter, look,” Tom interjected, “There's no set time when you have to be up. It's just that we serve breakfast at that time, and most of the guests come for it.”

Bill gave Peter a defiant look, “See?”

“But if you miss breakfast. . .”

“So what?” Bill muttered, “I'll be up for lunch. No big deal, Hoffman.”

Peter pursed his lips and drew in a calming breath, “All right, have it your way, Bill. But I'm headed over to my cabin. I certainly won't be missing breakfast.”

Peter marched away, fed up with Bill's behavior. Tom could only imagine how the long drive from the airport out to Miranda had been.

Bill sighed in disbelief, and rolled his eyes, his arms immediately assuming their angry, crossed position.

“Bill,” Tom began, softly, “Do you really think that's a good way to talk to Peter?”

“He's a tight-assed, stuffy old man.” Bill snapped, “Always looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do like he's my fucking dad.”

Jumping up from his chair, Bill started to storm out of the dining room, causing the last few hands lingering at their tables to look up, startled. Tom quickly followed Bill, catching up just as the young man reached the exit door.

“Bill-”

“Well, he's not!” Bill cried, looking up at Tom's glassy eyes, “My dad is dead, and he's not coming back.”

Tom watched, his mouth open with dying protests as Bill threw the door open and ran across the lobby to the front doors. It took Tom only a few moments to realize that giving Bill his space right now probably wouldn't be the best idea since Bill didn't even know his way around the ranch. The cabins were on the other side of the horse pens, not visible in the dark.

Tom ran after Bill, throwing the front door out of his way and dashing down the stairs before he stopped to look for Bill's slim figure. A single light mounted above the door of the main house cast bright light across the front driveway, barely reaching out to the field and the now empty grazing pens. Tom made out Bill's figure, running toward the front gate, and angled his steps in the same direction.

Tom caught up with Bill, only to find the boy leaning against the locked gates, sobbing as if his heart had been broken into a million pieces.

“Bill, I'm sorry.” Tom said, softly, reaching out a careful hand to touch Bill's shoulder.

“Go away!” Bill cried, arching away from Tom's hand as if he had been burned.

“Please, let me just show you to the cabins.” Tom implored.

There was no scenario of this situation in his head where he walked away and let Bill try to find the cabins by himself.

“Why?” Bill spun around, his face streaked with tears, “Why do you even care?”

Tom drew back, frowning deeply, “First, of all, you're a minor, and I can't leave you out here when you're on this property. Second of all, I know what it's like to lose a father. I just want to help.”

Bill sagged against the gate, wiping his eyes, “Your dad. . .died, too?”

“Yeah. I was only fifteen. I still remember how rough it was.”

“You're not just saying that to be nice, are you?”

“No, of course not!” Tom exclaimed, and then softened his voice, “I wouldn't do that.”

Bill ran his sleeve over his wet cheeks, wiping the tears away. He folded his arms again and said, “Okay, fine. You can show me where the cabins are, I guess.”

“Okay, this way.” Tom said, motioning in the direction of the guest bunks.

They started off across the yard in silence, Bill once more lagging a few feet behind. Tom could still hear the boy sniffing quietly, but he didn't dare make another remark about it. He had thought they were making progress at the dinner table, but Bill seemed distrustful again. Once again, Tom pondered on what could have made such a young person that way.

When they reached the cabin, the light in the bathroom was still on, indicating Peter had found his way. Bill hesitated at the doorstep, his lower lips still quivering.

“Look, why don't you get a good night's rest and you'll feel better in the morning.” Tom said, quietly, laying a gentle hand on Bill's back.

Bill stiffened, pulling away from Tom's touch, “That's what I always tell myself.”

Tom let out a disheartened sigh as Bill grabbed at the screen door's handle and slipped inside. Bill turned to shut the inner door behind him, but paused to gaze at Tom through the screen, “I like you, Tom. . .Don't ruin it.”

The door shut in Tom's face with finality, cutting him off from Bill without so much as a 'goodnight.' He lingered on the doorstep for a few moments longer before giving up hope of Bill opening the door again. He started off across the yard, in the direction of the employees' cabins when the shimmering of the lake in the distance caught his eyes. The water was crystal clear and calm beneath the pale glow of the moon, dragging Tom toward the lake's edge. He sank to the grass beside the water and crossed his arms over his bent up knees. A soft breeze drifted across the lake, bringing in the scent of wildflowers, pond scum, and horse manure – the life he'd lived for the past six years. It was a sanctuary here, a place where he had finally managed to rebuild his courage, self-worth, his heart. He hoped that at some point this month, Bill, too, would experience the healing nature of Miranda, and soften his young, battered heart, just as it had done for Tom. 

 

 


	2. Friendship?

Day 2

Bill Trumper woke with the sun streaming through the thin, checkered curtains, and a bird calling out a cheery good morning through the slightly opened window. His iPod was lost in the sheets and tangled up in the cord of his earbuds from his falling asleep with the music on last night. Eventually, the iPod had shut the music off and he had fallen asleep at last.

For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was at. He was accustomed to waking up the thick, sun-blocking curtains drawn over the window, and the walls of his bedroom wallpapered in band posters. A quick glance around the room reminded him, with a sinking heart, that he was miles from home – stuck on a dirty, remote horse ranch in Montana of all places. The place his parents had banished him for some sort of ill-fated attempt at rehabilitating his delinquent behavior.

“This is your last chance.” He could remember his mother saying as he kissed him on the forehead at the airport gateway, “Please, make me proud.”

Proud. It had been years since he had made his mother, or anyone for that matter, proud. A month on this dumb, boring animal farm wasn't going to change shit. He would do his best to survive for the next thirty days, but that was all anyone could ask.

Bill languished in his bunk for another fifteen minutes, dreading what lay ahead of him, before throwing back the thick coverlet and dragging himself to the bathroom. A glance at the clock told him that it was nearly noon, and Peter had wisely not attempted to awaken him at eight.

 

 _At least there's hot running water._ He thought, blandly, as he eyed the sparse, but clean and functional bathroom.

Stripping down to his skin, Bill ducked into the warmth of the shower and began to slowly wash his long, black hair. As the soap turned to thick suds in, his hair and the hot water pounded soothingly on his shoulders, Bill thought about everything that had happened the day before. He had put up one last fight with his mom and Gordon, daring to hope that they would change their minds and let him spend all summer in L.A. Neither party was interested in canceling the plans. His sentence had been set.

Everyone left in a dour mood. Gordon spent the entirety of the drive to the airport smoking and grumbling under his breath, while Simone sat in the passengers seat with her head down. Bill played games on his phone, keeping the raging anger inside him tamped down so as not to incite a fight and have Gordon driving the car off the highway in a rage.

But when he passed through security at the airport and boarded the plane at last, the reality of the situation hit him with stunning clarity. He was going away for a whole month, to a place he'd never seen or heard of, where no one knew him. If he were honest, it could be just as much of a blessing as a curse. But Bill was a creature of comfort, and he already longed for the familiarity of his bedroom. He turned his face to the window and fought back tears for most of the flight.

Glimpsing the ranch for the first time, he had been slightly horrified – it was even more rural than he expected. Checking his phone with shaking hands, he was relieved to see that the device still clung to a signal. He couldn't go this entire month without internet.

Fear and despair subsided, he rushed to the safety of a strong, rough facade to shield him from people he didn't know. Usually it worked, and for a moment it had . . . Until Tom Kaulitz.

Bill's eyes jarred open when the handsome, rugged rancher's face popped into his head. Lengthy sleep had nearly made him forget about the fledgling friendship. It had only been for a couple of hours yesterday, but Tom Kaulitz had definitely made an impact. At first, he had returned Bill's rude behavior with vigor, but he had come back and apologized, tried to make things right. Trying to remember the last time someone had apologized to him – or Bill had apologized to someone else – gave him a pause.

Tom wasn't at all what he had expected from the Miranda Gulch Ranch. He had expected hicks, and chores, and stupid, boring activities that were supposed to be fun. So far, he the ranch was better than he had expected, but Tom most of all had thrown him for a loop.

Bill was wary of “friends,” but Tom seemed to have no ulterior motive. He seemed genuine, and maybe, just maybe, Bill would give him a chance.

If Bill were honest, he was intimidated. Tom didn't take shit from people, and he didn't give shit to anyone. He was open, honest. He was handsome, manly, kind . . . and, damn, did he smell good.

Bill shook his head hard to derail that train of thought. A twist of dread and unwanted desire knifed through his stomach, leaving him breathing hard. He tried to squelch it, but the idea had already planted itself deep in his brain.

It wasn't that he hadn't experimented with his sexuality before – he was seventeen years old. He had done plenty of carousing, with both boys and girls, but certain experiences had left a bad taste in his mouth. It was so much safer to date girls and tell his parents that he was straight, fulfilling his mom's dreams of a big fancy wedding and eventually grandchildren. Bill, however, had always been drawn to danger. Safety was boring, not to mention, unsatisfactory.

One thing he knew for sure – he had to find out more about Tom.

Bill hurried through the rest of his shower and put on black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, decorated with a skull wearing an Indian, feathered headdress, and stepped into his biker boots. Taking a blowdryer, and then a straightener to his freshly washed hair, he ironed the thick, black layers into a feathered halo around his face. He hesitated for only a second before applying a bit of lip gloss. Peter always yelled at him about wearing lip gloss, but Bill didn't intend upon seeing much of his “babysitter” today. As he recalled, today was the horse show, which gave Bill an excuse to run off with Tom – if the handsome rancher would have him, after last night's display.

He pocketed his phone and ipod and stepped out of the cabin with purpose. He didn't want today to finish like yesterday. Breaking down the way he had in front of Tom was not only embarrassing, but also damaging. He didn't want Tom to think he was some fragile-minded teenager that never got over the loss of his father. He didn't want Tom to be his savior; no one needed to save him, especially not a rancher he had just met. He just wanted to forget who he was for a month, and the ranch seemed like the perfect place to do so, even if it had seemed unlikely from the outset.

In the daylight, the ranch was much easier to navigate. From the cabins, Bill had a clear view of the horse pens and then the main house, driveway, and front gate. Off to the right of the cabins, Bill could see three huge barns, each he imagined, housed dozens of horses.

Hoping that lunch was still in session, Bill hiked across the expansive yard to the steps of the main house. It was quite a walk, but Bill didn't mind. He was trying to think of what he might say to Tom after what had happened the night before. Should he act like nothing had happened? Should he apologize, for once in his life? Should he stay away from the good-looking rancher entirely? The last option was probably the best choice, but Bill could not sate his curiosity. In the last couple of years, Tom was the first person to show true interest, rather than trying to make Bill “share his feelings,” or discipline him for being rebellious.

Bill tried to act casual as he entered the mess hall. As he had hoped, lunch was still in full swing. He scanned the big room, picking through the faces of guests and ranch hands until his eyes rested on Tom, seated in the same place as the previous night, at the right hand of Miss Franz. He was relieved when he noted the empty chair right next to Tom.

Quietly shuffling forward, Bill slipped into the empty seat and reached for the large bowl of macaroni and cheese that sat in the center of the table. Tom cut off in the middle of his discussion with Natalie to glance over in shock at Bill.

“I'm glad to see you here.” He finally managed after a moment of sputtering.

“I have to eat.” Bill shrugged, forking a slice of ham onto his plate and plucking a piece of thick, oven-hot bread from the basket.

“Right.” Tom nodded, “How did you sleep?”

“Good.” Bill said, blandly.

Tom picked up his fork and pushed his macaroni around his plate, obviously uncomfortable with Bill's passive behavior. At last, he questioned, “Are you coming to the horse show today?”

Bill brightened, “Yeah. It sounds cool.”

Tom looked relieved, “It happens at three o'clock. I can show you where the show ring is.”

“Yeah, sure. After lunch.” Bill agreed.

“You should probably ask Peter.” Tom suggested, nodding his head toward the older man, who was seated across the table.

Bill eyed his nanny with disgust, “Fuck him.”

“How old are you?” Tom asked.

“Seventeen. Why?”

“You're too young to be talking like that.” Tom scolded.

Bill opened his mouth to speak again, but was struck mute by Tom's sharp gaze. Typically, when an adult told Bill not to do something, it only made the urge to do the same thing again rise up even stronger. Tom was different, however, in that he gave no condescending tone, or prudish “young man” as the end of his sentence. His tone made Bill stop and listen – and even if he didn't necessarily want to, it made him obey.

“I bet if you asked nicely, Peter wouldn't mind at all if I gave you a tour of the ranch.” Tom added, his tone of voice lifting back to normal.

Bill tried to contain his excitement, “A tour? Really?”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom grinned, flashing Bill a glimpse of straight, white teeth.

“Okay!” Bill nodded.

He wasn't exactly fired up to see every square inch of grass, dirt, and horse poop that made up the Miranda Gulch Ranch, but the thought of spending all day with Tom made his heart flutter and his stomach do cartwheels.

“All you have to do is ask Peter.” Tom added, raising his brows at Bill as if in a challenge.

Bill chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before agreeing, “Okay, fine.”

Kissing Peter's ass for once wouldn't hurt him, especially if it meant he could be out of the old man's company for a whole day. He had been terribly upset when his mother, Simone, informed him that Peter would be going with Bill to the ranch. With Tom here to whisk him away, however, things at the ranch were starting to look up.

Bill squirmed the rest of the way through lunch, relieved when Natalie wished everyone a good day and left the table, indicating to everyone else that it was time to leave. As the guests and hands began to exit the mess hall, Bill sidled up to Peter, shifting uncomfortably from one boot to the other. Peter was engrossed in conversation with one of the ranch hands, but he quickly noticed Bill lingering at his side. At last, he bid the man farewell, and turned to his young charge.

“Yes, Bill?”

“I was just wondering. . .I mean, Tom asked me if. . .I thought I should, you know, ask. ..”

“Well, spit it out.” Peter chuckled at Bill's unusual shyness.

“I wanted to know if I could go with Tom. . .He said he'd show me a tour of the ranch.” Bill finished, dropping his eyes to the ground.

Peter's brows rose and he put his hands on his hips, “Well, this is exciting.”

“What?” Bill demanded, petulantly.

“You, making friends.” Peter motioned toward Tom, who had wandered over to listen in on Peter's answer.

“Well, can I?” Bill insisted.

“Yes, of course.” Peter smiled, “I'm sure you'll be in good hands.” He looked pointedly at Tom.

Tom nodded, “Yes, sir, Mr. Hoffman. It's my responsibility to take care of the guests here at Miranda. Especially the young ones.”

“They are a little skittish, aren't they?” Peter said, acting as if Bill weren't standing right there.

Bill could feel the usual frustration at Peter starting to well up in his chest again when Tom's hand suddenly came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up at Tom to find the older man smiled, kindly, “Only until you get to know them.”

Peter's smile faded a bit and his gaze passed between Bill and Tom with curiosity. At last, he put up his hands, “Well, I hope you two have a good day. Have fun, Bill.”

As Peter walked away, Tom glanced down at Bill, “Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?”

Bill shrugged, glaring at Peter's back, “I guess not.”

Tom smiled, and then winked at Bill, “Now that he's gone, let's get out of here.”

 

~

 

The horse barn was peacefully quiet, and filled with the musky scent of hay and manure. The only sounds were the shifting of hooves, and an occasional knicker of a contented mare.

Tom led Bill down one long corridor until they came to the stall of a beautiful white and brown spotted mare. She had blue eyes that gazed out at the boy with curiosity and affection. Tom tried not to grin too broadly as Bill's mouth fell open in awe.

“Can I. . .Can I touch it?” He asked, lifting a tentative hand.

“Yeah, go ahead. She won't bite.” Tom said, reaching his hand through the bars to draw the mare forward, “Come here, Prissy. Good girl.”

“Prissy?” Bill raised his eyebrows.

“It's short for Priscilla.” Tom replied, dragging his fingers over Prissy's velvety soft nose.

Bill's smaller hand reached underneath Tom's to give a quick pet before withdrawing his hand, “I don't know if I wanna ride a horse named Prissy.”

Tom chuckled, “Trust me, Bill. This is the horse you want. . .Have you ever ridden before?”

Bill shook his head, “No way.”

“What do you mean 'no way'?”

“I'm kind of an . . .indoor person.” Bill shrugged, “I don't like hiking, or sports, or anything like that. . .I guess that's why I didn't want to come here.”

Prissy whinnied softly and stuck her nose through the bars, licking at Bill's retreating fingers.

“Look,” Tom encouraged, “She likes you.”

Bill bit his lower lip, hesitantly resigning his hand back to the mare's nose, “I guess.”

“All right, so are you sold or not?” Tom asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you I'd give you the grand tour.” Tom replied, “We're gonna need a ride.”

“Wait.” Bill yanked his hand back, and took a step away from the stall, “You mean we're gonna ride horses?”

“Yeah.” Tom chuckled in amusement at Bill's distressed expression, “It's the easiest way to get around the ranch. . . .and the most fun.”

“But. . .but . .I can't ride.” Bill sputtered, shaking his head.

“Sure you can. Come on, I'll give you a few lessons.” Tom said, opening the padlock on Prissy's gate.

Bill took another step back when the cage was opened, as if he feared that the docile mare would trample him.

“Its okay.” Tom said, sliding a bright pink bridle over Prissy's head, “See, she's nice.”

Bill observed quietly as Tom loaded Prissy with her bridle, blanket, and saddle and led her out of the stall. Tom motioned toward the training ring, suggesting, “Let's go and see about getting you up there.”

Bill shuffled along behind him, still unsure. Tom had to admit that he, too, had once been afraid of the big, regal beasts, but a few years of training with Natalie's late husband had made him realize that horses were just like people. If they were treated kindly, they reacted kindly. They were kind, gentle animals that only needed the correct training to make them the right kind of partner to any man or woman.

Outside, the sun was shining at it's zenith and the first rotation of horses were out in the grazing pen. Across the yard, the group of teenage girls were out with a couple other ranch hands taking their own lessons on horseback riding. Tom waved to the other guys, and was rewarded with a fond, rather attentive hello from several of the girls.

Bill gave a quiet snort at the reaction.

“What was that for?” Tom asked.

“They're trying to flirt with you.” Bill observed, “Girls. . .”

Tom's mouth twisted in a wry smile, “How do you know they weren't waving at you?”

“What? Me?” Bill shook his head, “No way.”

“Why not?” Tom asked, guiding Prissy to a stop with a gentle hand on her neck, “You're a good-looking kid, Bill. Why shouldn't girls like you?”

Bill shifted uncomfortably, “They aren't my type anyway.”

Tom shook his head wordlessly, and then motioned to the horse, “You ready?”

“No, but oh well.” Bill replied with a shrug.

“Okay, I'll hold you steady while you mount.” Tom said, leading Bill over to the horse's side.

Bill stuck his foot in the stirrup and grabbed at the saddle horn. With a grunt, he pushed himself up, throwing a wild foot over the other side. Tom kept his hands hovering behind Bill, having uneasy images of the slight boy falling and breaking something.

It made no sense that he should be so protective of Bill – he hardly knew the kid – but the sense rose up to grip his heart anyway. He had woken up yesterday with the same objective as always – to get through the next twelve hours without remembering why he was here, and to fulfill his duties on the ranch. He had found himself awakening this morning with a new goal – helping Bill to stop being so mad, perhaps making a profound difference in the rebellious teen's heart. He just wanted Bill to be happy, and maybe this ranch – maybe Tom – could do the trick.

Bill straightened in the saddle, tightly holding onto the saddle horn and a handful of Prissy's mane. He looked out of place on the horse with his designer clothes and his biker shoes.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, patting Bill's leg.

“Yeah, fine.” Bill nodded, though he looked slightly pale.

“Here,” Tom looped the reins over Prissy head and put them in Bill's hands.

Bill took the reins with delicate fingers, and let out a breath, “Its actually not so bad.”

“See, I knew you'd like it.” Tom grinned, “Now, just tap her sides with your heels a little.”

Bill gingerly did as Tom said, and Prissy took off at a slow gait, carrying a protesting Bill with her, “Tom. . .Tom, how do I stop!” Bill cried, distressed.

“Just pull back on the reins a little.” Tom put a hand on Prissy's nose and cooed, “Whoa, girl. Whoa.”

Prissy stopped and shook her head back and forth with a knicker, as if amused by Bill's reaction.

“See, she's very obedient.” Tom said, petting Prissy's nose and scratching between her ears.

“Okay.” Bill squared his shoulders, “I can do it!”

Tom took a step back as Bill tapped his heels again and Prissy took another few steps forward. Bill gave an experimental tug on the reins and uttered a quiet, “whoa.” Prissy stopped in her tracks, causing Bill to give a little smile.

“You like it?” Tom asked, hopefully.

Bill began to smile wider, “Yeah. I think it could be fun.”

“Good!” Tom called out as Bill told Prissy to start walking again.

He watched proudly as horse and boy circled the ring in a hesitant, but enjoyable first ride. They went around a few more times before Bill pulled up next to Tom.

“Tom, this whole horse riding this. . .It's not as hard as looks.” He shrugged and lifted his chin, “I think I've got it down.”

“Okay. Well, you keep making circuits, and I'm gonna go get my own mount, okay? I'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Bill said, hesitantly, “Not for too long, okay.”

Tom escaped to the relative safety of the barn and leaned up against the wall. Cradling his head in his hands, he began to wonder, What the hell was he doing? He barely knew this kid, and already, Bill was placing so much trust in him. . .so much that Bill didn't want him to leave, not for one minute. Tom wanted to accept it; he wanted very much for Bill to come to him, depend on him, stay with him, but a little voice inside his head hissed, _You're going to fail._ And the very thought made him cower in fear. _You're going to fail. Again. How could you do this when you know what happened the last time. . .?_

Sucking in a breath, Tom steadied his composure and took a feeble walk to the end of the aisle, where his usual mount, a big black named Tony, was chewing absently at the hay left over in his feed bag. Tom opened the gate and dragged Tony's big head into his arms, stroking the stallion with utmost affection and reassurance.

For the past six years, this ranch and all the horses, including Tony and Prissy, had been a haven, but now, he was about to ruin it all by letting Bill get past the barriers in his heart. He had never expected self-destruction, but his heart had always wanted what it couldn't have.

Tom went through the routine of saddling Tony, feeding the horse baby carrots he had swiped at the lunch table, until the black beauty was ready to go. Tom mounted the horse and they rode back out into the ring where Bill was making steady progress with Prissy. Giving a firm tap to Tony's sides, Tom urged Tony into a canter until he was neck and neck with Prissy.

“How's it going out here?” Tom asked.

Bill sat up straight in the saddle and held the reins comfortably in one hand, “Not so bad. Are we going to go touring now?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Tom waved a hand toward the broad expense of the ranch, “Right this way.”

Tom took the lead and they headed out across the grassy slopes, leaving the main house and the barns behind. They had all afternoon, and perhaps the evening to be together; Tom didn't know whether to be overjoyed or dismayed.

 

 


	3. Doubts

Bill gave a groan and grabbed at his skinny ass as they finally dismounted at the lake's edge, “Its sooo sore.”

Tom chuckled as he sank to the grass right next to the water, “That takes some getting used to.”

Bill limped up next to Tom and plopped down with a sigh, “I'm never touring with you again.”

“You mean you didn't like any of it?” Tom asked, folding his hands behind his head and casting a disbelieving gaze at Bill.

“The ranch is nice, I guess.” Bill shrugged, “But my balls feel like they're gonna fall off from being rubbed by that damn saddle.”

Tom began to laugh harder and with their proximity, Bill couldn't help but notice the lines that curled out from the corners of his eyes and marked either side of his mouth. He wasn't old, but Bill would guess late twenties, early thirties. His hair was dark brown, probably quite long if he didn't constantly keep it in a pony tail or bun, and there was stubble on his jaw. He was beautiful, in a rugged, aged wine sort of way.

“Wait, you mean I can say 'damn'?” Bill prodded, recalling the talking-to at breakfast for using the f-word.

“Okay, 'damn' isn't so bad.” Tom replied, his laughter dwindling, “It's just that I was raised in a more traditional way, and intelligent, educated young men didn't use that kind of language, especially in public, and definitely not toward their elders.”

Bill frowned, “Now you sound like Gordon.”

“Trust me, I'm not trying to father you.” Tom replied.

Bill sat up, suddenly struck by the gravity of the statement, “What _are_ you trying to do?”

Confusion flickered across Tom's eyes, and he pushed himself up onto his elbow, “I'm trying to show you around the ranch.”

“I told you I'm seventeen.” Bill continued, heart palpitating, “You've got to be, I don't know. . . twenty-five at least. . .older?”

Tom sat up quickly, shaking his head, “No, Bill. . .No, this isn't what you're thinking.”

“How do you know what I'm thinking?” Bill replied, feeling all his defenses start rising, like a lockdown procedure in secret government building. He was starting to panic, starting to _think._ What if Tom wasn't what he said? What if it was happening all over? What if. . .

Bill jumped up off the ground and started to walk away, not really thinking of where he would go since he had no idea where he was.

“Bill, wait!” Tom was running after him, sounding just as panicked as Bill, “Wait, please. ..I didn't mean. . .I'm just trying. ..I'm trying to be your friend!”

Bill felt Tom's hand on his shoulder and he spun around, meeting Tom's wide-eyed gaze with scrutiny. He didn't know what he had expected to see. Anger, frustration, evil. . .? All a figment of Bill's well-rounded imagination – according to Gordon. Instead, Tom's expression was pure, guileless, but desperate.

“Please.” Tom continued, reaching up a hesitant hand to touch Bill's shoulder, close to his neck, “I don't want to hurt you, or. . . .or take advantage of you. . .”

Bill blinked hard, assaulted by a wave of tears. He didn't want to cry in front of Tom again, but the man seemed to elicit a strange reaction from him – the kind that made him want to open up and be honest. . .Say things he never said to anyone else.

“Please, sit back down.” Tom added, his voice soft and reassuring.

Bill bit his lower lip and stared at the ground. He knew how he looked – crazy, mistrustful, out of control. He had exploded on Tom with hardly any provocation, just as always. Gordon thought there was something mentally wrong with him, and Simone said Bill was just misunderstood. But none of them were right, and maybe he could one day convince Tom of that fact. . .Maybe he could trust this man.

“Please?” Tom asked once more, his hand sliding down Bill's arm to clasp his hand.

“Okay.” Bill whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

They went back to the lakeside and sat down, silent for several long minutes until Tom began to speak again, as if nothing had happened, “I grew up in these parts, but my family was too sophisticated for horse farming. We weren't rich, but we had some money. . .I always feel like I missed a part of my childhood by not being able to experience this kind of life. Seeing how much I love horses now, I can't imagine how much fun it would've been as a kid.”

“Did you have brothers, or sisters?” Bill asked quietly, intrigued by Tom's sudden nostalgia.

“No, just me.” Tom shrugged, “Me and my Mom after Dad died.”

“Was it hard?”

“Yeah, I felt lonely a lot.” Tom admitted, “Left home early, trying to find myself.”

“Sometimes I wish I could run away.” Bill whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs and resting his chin on one knee, “To someplace like here, where nobody messes with you or tells you that your nuts, or puts you down. . .”

“Who does that?” Tom asked, gently, “Gordon?”

“Yeah. . .And my mom. . ..She tries to protect me, you know. But she just ends up making it worse.”

“Moms can be like that. . .I'm sure she loves you very much.”

Bill shrugged. He'd heard that statement plenty of times, but he knew the truth – he was just another one of Simone's problems, a business deal she had to work out, an incident she needed to sweep under the rug.

“Sometimes I feel like no one loves me.”

Tom frowned and scooted closer, “That can't be true.”

Bill made a sound of disgust, “You don't know my life, Tom. . .You don't _want_ to know my life.”

“Maybe I don't want to know your life, but I want to know you, Bill. As a person, as a friend. Do you think you can manage that?”   
Bill shrugged, “If you promise not to ask too many questions when I flip my shit on you.”

A slow smile tugged at Tom's mouth, “Okay. I think I can deal with that.”

“Good.” Bill tugged his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and was pleased to find a reasonable excuse to cut the far too intimate conversation short, “Look, it's almost 2:30. Shouldn't we be getting back for the show?”

“Oh yeah!” Tom exclaimed, as if he had forgotten, “Yes, we need to get back immediately! I was supposed to help set up.”

Bill started to laugh as Tom bolted off the ground and swung straight into the saddle. Tom reined at Tony, who was suddenly startled into action, “Come on, let's go! We're gonna be late.”

Bill clambered into the saddle, not so gracefully as Tom, and gave Prissy a kick to catch up with Tony. They took off across the field at a steady canter until Bill could see the the main house and the barns, bordered by the cabins, on the horizon. A large band of people were gathered around one of the bigger rings, and collapsible bleachers had been set up for the spectators. Someone had blown up several balloons and tied them to the fence to encourage an air of celebration. As they drew closer, Bill made out the forms of Peter and Natalie, standing away from the rest of the crowd, engrossed in discussion. The boss and the nanny both looked up, startled, when Tom and Bill arrived in a cloud of dust.

Tom pulled to a stop just a few feet in front of Natalie and hopped down from the saddle, “Natalie, I am so sorry. I lost track of the time. I know you should probably deliver some kind of punishment, but-”

Natalie laughed merrily at Tom's half-joking distress, “Don't worry about it, Tom. The rest of the boys handled the set-up just fine. . .As for young Mr. Trumper. . .” She arched an eyebrow in Bill's direction when Peter stepped in.

“Young man, you have been gone all morning.” Peter admonished, “I have not seen hide nor hair of you since lunch. What was I to think? That you had fallen off some horse and broken your neck?”

“I told you I was going with Tom.” Bill argued, looking at Tom for help.

“I did say I would take care of him.” Tom interjected, laying a protective hand on Bill's shoulder.

“You said tour!” Peter exclaimed, growing red in the face, “You've been gone for nearly three hours!”

“It's a big ranch.” Bill replied, icily, crossing his arms and cocking his hip out in a rebellious pose.

“Mr. Hoffman, I apologize.” Tom said, stepping in before the discussion between Peter and Bill could grow any more heated, “It was my fault. I realize I should have brought him back sooner, but Bill is a very likable boy. We were having so much fun, we lost track of time.”

Peter regarded Tom with a distrustful glare, “Well, what's done is done, but next time, I'll have to set out a curfew.”

“Peter!” Bill objected, suddenly terrified at the thought having his free time with Tom regulated just like everything else in his life, “That's bullshit! You're not my mom or Gordon. You can't just tell me how to live my life.”

“I'm not.” Peter argued, “But I can't just let you run off to God knows where with a stranger when you are in my care. Your mother and Gordon are trusting me to look after you.”

“Fuck my mom, and fuck Gordon!” Bill screamed, angry tears growing in his eyes, “And double fuck _you,_ Peter!”

The adults' mouths hung agape as Bill spun and ran off in the direction of the cabins, not looking back. He was not a physical person, and he barely made it halfway across the yard to the cabins before he ran out of breath. Sinking to his knees in the grass, Bill gasped for air between frustrated sobs. He was so angry at Peter, he just wanted to throw a punch at the man's face. He hated it when people tried to tell him what to do, but this was a whole new level. He was on a goddamn ranch, miles and miles away from home, and his mom was still trying to tell him what to do. He just wanted to be free of it all for once in his life.

Bill looked up when he heard footsteps approaching. Balling his fists, he was getting ready to fight Peter over the matter when he realized it was Tom that had followed him.

“Hey, buddy.” Tom's tone was endearing, worried. He knelt down behind Bill and laid gentle hands on his shoulders, “Are you okay?”

“No.” Bill mumbled, wiping his cheeks, “I'm so sick of him telling me what to do! I just want him to go away. . .” Bill turned to look at Tom, finding the man's face tender and compassionate, “You can take care of me, can't you?”

Tom blinked hard, surprised by Bill's words. He swallowed hard before nodding, “Yes, Bill. If that's what you want.”

Before he could second-guess himself, Bill leaned forward into Tom's arms and buried his face in the warm, muscular shoulder. Tom hesitated for only a moment before putting his arms around Bill.

“I'm sorry I doubted you.” Bill whispered, embarrassed to recall the panic attack he had let control him out by the lake.

“Its okay.” Tom patted his back.

For once, when Bill heard these often repeated words, he really believed the person saying them.

 

 


	4. Boundaries

Through each stage of the show, Tom sought out Bill's face in the crowd, hoping that the boy was okay. His screaming match with Peter had been quite an outburst, but Tom was beginning to think such arguments were routine with the two. First at dinner, last night and then today. . .It was a depressing trend Tom didn't want to continue seeing. He wanted to help Bill, wanted to believe that none of this was his fault, but his temper was out of control. Tom was too old to trust foolish naivety that one often entertains with childhood friends; he knew Bill at least needed help with his anger.

Usually, Tom took pride in the horse show that he and the rest of the hands put on. This week, however, the excitement of performing was overshadowed by Bill. Tom did his best and made the crowd “ooh” and “ahh” with tricks, but his heart was not in it. He was glad when he walked out of the ring for the last time.

Tom only had a short time to get back to his cabin, shower, and dress before dinner started at six o'clock. He hurried through his shower, washing out all the dirt and grime his skin and hair had accumulated from the long tour of the ranch with Bill, and then the show. With his hair still dripping wet, and a shower clutched around his waist to exited the bathroom to find a change of clothes. He nearly dropped the towel in his surprise when he found Bill sitting on his bed, flipping through a magazine Tom had left lying out.

“Bill!” Tom exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”

If Tom was not mistaken, Bill's eyes went up and down Tom's half-naked body before returning to his face, “I simply cannot stand another moment with Peter.” He supplied, dramatically.

“Oh, well, this isn't really a good time.”

Bill's tongue flicked out over his lips and he gave a sigh, “Shooing me away already?”

“No, no of course not.” Tom argued, “I'm just. . .”

“Okay, fine.” Bill shrugged and tossed the magazine back onto the bedside table, “I'll go in the other room.”

He jumped up off the bed and breezed past Tom in a cloud of cologne and hairspray. Tom realized with a jolt that he had also applied lipgloss to his full, plush mouth. The thought instigated a tingle low in his stomach that Tom didn't have the presence of mind to squelch. What was Bill trying to do? Tempt him, seduce him? His behavior was dumbfounding. First, he was distrustful of Tom, then he seemed to be enjoying himself, and in no time at all, he was freaking out again. Now, he found it acceptable to lay on Tom's bed while Tom showered and wear lipgloss, of all things.

Anyone else might have found Bill's behavior too confusing or time-consuming, but Tom was determined to be friends with Bill, perhaps figure out why Bill was the way he was.

Tom quickly dressed, not even taking a look below his waist for fear of what he might see. He didn't want to _want_ Bill; he wanted to help the poor kid. But damn him, Bill was rather good for being so young and withdrawn. If he was trying to make Tom squirm, it was working.

Tom dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of worn jeans, and an undershirt beneath his usual flannel shirt. With his hair tied into a quick bun, he donned his Stetson and ventured into the next room. Bill was leaned up against the counter of the tiny kitchen, thumbing carelessly through his ipod. He had one earbud in his ear and the other left dangling at his side. His head bobbed steadily to the beat of the music. His dark eyes pinned themselves to Tom when he entered the room. Crooking one long, finger, decorated with two black and silver rings, he cast Tom a beckoning gaze. Chewing nervously on his lower lip, Tom stepped uneasily to Bill's side.

“This is one of my favorite songs.” Bill murmured, lifting the discarded earbud and offering it to Tom, “Want to hear?”

Tom cleared his throat and responded huskily, “Sure.”

Bringing the tiny headphone to his ear, he listening for only a few moments before recognizing the din of Quiet Riot. He was a bit surprised to find someone so young listening to classic rock n roll, but was also impressed by Bill's taste.

Bill gazed up at him from beneath coy lashes and began to sway his hips. . . _grinding_ them closer and closer to Tom's. At last, he reached out a hand and put it on Tom's side. It was a simple, almost innocent touch if Bill hadn't been making eyes at Tom the way he was.

“Bill, I. . .” Tom began,

He reached up to grasp Bill's hand, intending to push it away, but Bill's fingers turned in his palm and latched on. He pushed himself closer, wrapping his other arm around Tom's waist and laying his head on Tom's shoulder. He began to hum quietly to the music, continuing his slow, determined gyrating.

Tom's discomfort soared, but he couldn't find it within himself to push Bill away. This was intimacy, the non-sexual kind, he tried to convince himself. Bill just needed someone he could trust with his seemingly fragile heart. But this encounter was so much more than that. It was full of need and heat. . .a desire to go one step further.

Tom grasped at the back of Bill's neck just as his mind detoured into the inappropriate. He leaned back, getting a good lock on Bill's eyes before whispering, “We need to get to dinner.”

Bill's expression was crestfallen. He let out a disappointed sigh and leaned back to pause the music. Without Quiet Riot blasting in his ear, Tom felt the silence thicken. He pressed the earbud into Bill's hand and moved around the boy to make a retreat to the front door.

“Tom?” Bill tagged along behind him, sounding confused, “What's wrong?”

Tom wanted to spin around and yell, _What do you think is wrong?_ Instead, he shook his head, “Nothing. It's just been a long day.”

A frown flickered across Bill's brows, “Okay, let's go. I'm starved.”

They set out across the grass, Tom keeping a safe two feet from Bill. The moment in the cabin had caught him off guard, even more than finding Bill on his bed. Not only had the encounter been undeniably sexual, but also it had been intimate. Bill was opening up to him, revealing parts of himself that he typically didn't let other people see. Tom had to wonder if even Peter didn't know what Bill's favorite song was.

By the time they reached the main house, dinner had already started. Bill and Tom were met by reprimanding glares from Peter and Natalie respectively. Tom would have claimed the excuse that he hadn't had much time after the show to get ready, but walking in with Bill on his heels sent a different message. He hoped no one else had watched too closely as they entered the mess hall.

Dinner was full of discussion about the horse show and other upcoming events, but Tom tuned it all out. He was focused on what had occurred back at his cabin. Bill's sudden change in behavior was confusing at best. Tom wouldn't be surprised if Bill were homosexual, but had never foreseen Bill coming onto him. With only two days of acquaintance behind them, Tom had originally considered the relationship platonic. . .almost fatherly. Thinking about it sexually was just wrong in Tom's opinion. He had never been the kind of man that liked younger girls. . .but Bill wasn't a girl, and he was definitely testing Tom's fortitude.

“Don't you think, Tom?. . .Tom?”

Tom's eyes swung upward when he felt Natalie's hand over his. He struggled for words as he met the boss's eyes, wondering how much of dinner he had missed.

Natalie smiled, patiently, “I was just telling Mr. Hoffman that it would be good for Bill to learn about horses.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Tom straightened in his seat, trying to engage, “It's a great way to relax and find new friends.”

“Friends?” Peter echoed.

“The horses, sir. They're kind, gentle, loyal. They don't betray you, or talk back like people sometimes do.”

Peter nodded, slowly, “I see. And who do you think should be giving lessons to Bill?”

“Well, I'm the head horse trainer here, so-”

“Don't you have classes, where it's a group activity?” Peter interrupted, his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, sir. One of the hands or myself teach them.”

“Perhaps Bill should sign up for one of those.”

Tom frowned across the table at the aloof old man before glancing over at Bill, who was slouching low in his seat, picking at his food, “I think Bill should have the right to decide that for himself.”

Bill looked up when he felt Tom's eyes on him, and Tom realized he, too, had been tuning out most of the dinner conversation.

“Besides,” Tom continued, “The classes have a time span of only one week since most guests only stay for that long. If Bill wants to keep learning after the extent of those classes, I'm more than willing to set aside time for private classes.”

Peter nodded, distrustfully, “I see.”

“Mr. Hoffman,” Natalie added, “I assure you, Mr. Kaulitz is our best handler. He knows more than I do about horses, I think.”

“I'm sure he does.” Peter smiled, diplomatically, “Well, then. Bill, why don't you get it on this conversation? What did you think of the horse show?”

Bill shrugged, “It was fine.”

Tom had to smile at Bill's unhelpful answers. He knew what Bill really thought about the horse show and that Bill was only being difficult to get under Peter's skin.

“Do you like horses, Bill?” Natalie asked.

Bill's thin shoulders rose once more, “I s'pose.”

The adults waited in uncomfortable silence for the youth to say more, but Bill remained reticent until the waiting lengthened. Finally, Natalie changed the subject to a conversation in which Bill didn't have to participate.

Unlike the night before, Bill only ate half his food, and rose from the table before dessert was served. Giving no indication of where he was going, he slipped quietly out of the mess hall. Tom didn't want to jump to conclusions, but after almost fifteen minutes passed without Bill's return, he began to worry. At last, throwing his napkin down, he got up and followed Bill's path out the door. The lobby was empty except for the fireplace that burned brightly beneath an array of stuffed and mounted animal heads. The glow of the fire flickered across the opposite wall, where dozens of picture frames hung, depicting the history of Miranda in photographs.

Tom's boots pounded across the wood floor until he reached the front door. When he got outside, he quickly caught sight of Bill, seated on the last step of the front porch. A plume of smoke rose above his head and he let his hand fall to his knee, a cigarette dangling between the very tips of his fingers.

Tom jogged down the stairs and sat down next to him, “Aren't you a little young for those?”

Bill shrugged and took another drag. Tapping ashes out on the ground he turned his face and blew a slow stream of smoke across Tom's cheeks, “I started when I was fifteen. Stole some from my mom's stash and ended up getting hooked.”

Tom frowned, disturbed, “Does she know?”

“Of course not. She doesn't pay attention to me.”

“Bill, what's wrong?” Tom asked, putting a hand on Bill's hunched back, “You left dinner early.”

“I can't stand it.” Bill spat, “Everyone looking at me like, 'Poor, Bill. He's such a delinquent. He needs special treatment so he won't freak out'. . . .I hate it.”

“Who thinks that?”

“Peter. . .Miss Franz. . .Didn't you see how she looked at me? I know what Gordon told her; that I'm a trouble kid, that I make problems everywhere I go.”

“That's not true. . .At least, I don't think it is.” Tom contradicted.

“No, it is.” Bill sighed, “It's already happening. Peter is pissed at you for keeping me out all day. He's always so touchy about the people I hang out with. He tried to control it and lock people out. Sometimes its ok, but I really like you. I don't want to get you in trouble either.”

“I can take care of myself.” Tom said, “I've been on this ranch for six years and Natalie knows me. She's not going to fire me because Peter get's a little upset.”

“It's not just Peter.” Bill cried, throwing out his hands, “You don't even know who I am, Tom! Do you know what Gordon will do to you if Peter puts in a bad word?”

“What?” Tom shrugged it off, “Is he gonna call the cops on me?”

Bill sent Tom a long gaze, his eyes blinking rapidly against watery emotion.

“Wait. . .” Tom held out a hand, his heart slogging through several uneven beats, “Gordon would. . .he _could_ do that?”

Bill sighed and clamped the cigarette between his lips. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it back out in a cloud of smoke, “Gordon may not like me, but he's married to my mom. And Peter reports to my mom, and if my mom doesn't like what he says, she tells Gordon. . .and Gordon does something about it.”

“Shit. . .” Tom murmured, taking his hat off to run a worried hand through his hair.

What kind of family was this? It sounded more like a monarchy than a family, a chain of command in which Bill was at the bottom. The picture Bill had been painting him of his mother, of Gordon, and Peter, was starting to take shape in Tom's head. Perhaps Bill really was more of a victim than everyone seemed to think.

“I thought you weren't supposed to cuss.” Bill murmured.

“Look, I'm not trying to start anything. I just want to be friends.” Tom said, ignoring Bill's ribbing, “Can you tell Peter that?”

Bill shrugged, “Sure I can. I tell him a lot of things. But does he ever listen?”

“Then I'll talk to him personally.” Tom said.

“Oh, who cares about all of them?” Bill growled, rising to his feet, “Fuck them. I wish I just had one day without anyone looking over my shoulder, telling me what to do, yelling at me.” He sighed and looked down at Tom with a sweet smile, “A day without anyone but you.”

Tom rose from to step, but lingered in front of Bill, feeling the strong urge to reach up and touch him. Bill's skin was flawless ivory beneath the bright glow of the overhead light, and his lips looked just perfect. Recalling the way Bill had touched him back at the cabin, Tom had to fight to keep himself from laying a hand on any part of Bill.

“You wanna get dessert?” Tom nodded his head toward the main house, eager to escape the tension that had suddenly built up between them.

Bill shrugged, “I'm not hungry. . .for pie.”

Tom swallowed hard, “I can't leave you out here.”

“Fine. . .” Bill said, rolling his eyes, “Peter's probably going to come storming out here next anyway.”

“Okay. Let's go.” Tom said.

They went back through the lobby and into the mess hall where slices of blueberry and cherry pie were being delivered to each guest's plate. Peter's expression was even more upset than the first time Bill and Tom had arrived to dinner late.

Tom dug into his pie, more out of the need to distract himself rather than hunger. Bill picked at his pie, but only took a few tasteless bites before pushing it away and sinking down in his seat. He was silent for the rest of dinner, remaining in the same ill-mannered pose with his arms folded and his chin down.

When dinner ended, Bill was the first out of his seat and out the doors, followed closely by Tom. Bill kept walking even when they got to the porch, starting off across the yard toward the cabins with a determined step.

“Bill, wait up.” Tom jogged to catch up with Bill's long strides.

“What?” Bill slowed a bit.

“Is everything okay with you?”

“Sure.” Bill said, “Whatever 'ok' means.”

“Look, I'm talking about you coming to my cabin after the horse show.” Tom blurted, unable to ignore the elephant in the room any longer.

Bill stopped in his tracks, turning to fully face Tom, “What about it? I was sick of Peter's mouth-”

“I don't think it's appropriate, Bill.”

Tom tried to soften the blow with a gentle tone, but Bill's expression grew hard with anger.

“What do you mean?”

“I was in the shower, and you lying on my bed. . .”

“Seriously?” Bill's prickly attitude emerged with force, “Are you fucking kidding me, Tom?”

“Bill, please, hear me out-”

“No! You think I'm whore, do you?”

“No.” Tom shook his head in disbelief.

“You think I came to your cabin to get laid?” Bill insisted, his voice rising.

Tom glanced around the yard to see if anyone was in earshot and then grabbed Bill by the arm to keep him from walking away, “I'm not accusing you of anything, Bill. I'm not saying either of us did anything, but the situation was a little. . .precarious.”

“No one even knew where I was.” Bill said, yanking his arm out of Tom's grip, “Don't worry, your reputation is safe.”

“I'm not worried about that either.” Tom argued, “You made me uncomfortable, okay? I just want to make sure we know where the boundaries are.”

“Boundaries.” Bill echoed with distaste, “Who gives a fuck about boundaries? I'm sick of hearing people tell me what I can and cannot do, Tom! You're going to start, too?”

“Life isn't all about what you want.” Tom snapped, “You can't always have your way. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is. And I'm telling you right now, it is not okay for you – a minor – to be showing up at my cabin, unsupervised.”

“I thought you were my friend, not my dad.” Bill muttered.

“I am, but the age difference is a little noticeable.” Tom replied, lowering his voice, “Like you told me, Peter already doesn't like me, and I don't want to give people reason to suspect things.”

“Fine.” Bill replied, coolly, “I won't come to the cabin unsupervised anymore. Happy?”

“Relieved.” Tom said, letting out a breath.

Bill rolled his eyes, “Okay, no cabin, but we can still hang out around the ranch, right?”

“Yes, of course. . .I meant it about the private riding lessons.”

“If it means I get to spend the day with you, I'll take the stupid lessons.” Bill agreed, “I just want Peter off my back.”

“All right. How about tomorrow, after lunch again?” Tom asked.

Bill's brilliant smile reappeared, as if he had never been angry with Tom, “Sounds great!”

 

 


	5. Private Lessons

Day 3

Much to Peter's surprise, Bill bounded out of bed at ten o'clock the next morning, unusually happy and full of smiles.

“What's gotten into you today?” Peter questioned, mildly.

Bill stood in front of the mirror that hung near his bunk, teasing his long, dark hair and applying what might have been the third coat of lipgloss since this morning, “Oh, just looking forward to hanging out with Tom.”

The comment was made casually – so flippantly that Peter turned in his chair to glare at the boy. He had been seated the desk, going over “work” on his laptop, but his attention was now fully on Bill.

“We've had this discussion Bill.” Peter said, seriously.

“Have we? All I remember is you yelling at me for being late to the horse show.” Bill replied, not even deigning to return the glare that he could feel Peter drilling into the back of his head.

“My point was that I don't want you spending all day with a man you hardly even know. . .It's provocative.”

“Come on, Peter.” Bill rolled his eyes, “He's the _vice president_ of the ranch. He's more like a. . .I don't know, mentor. . .”

Peter's brows shot upward, “Who are you, and what have you done with Bill?”

Bill grinned and spun around to face Peter, “Yes, Hoffman. You should be happy. I'm making friends, socializing. . .whatever boring shit you and Gordon make up to scold me about.”

Peter sighed and crossed his arms, “You must realize, Bill, I just want you to be safe. . .This is a big ranch, full of strangers. I'm simply worried for your well-being.”

“You don't have to be!” Bill announced, sticking the tube of lipgloss in his pocket for later, “Tom can take care of me.”

Peter's dismal expression returned, “Before you disappear for the rest of the day, I have something to tell you.”

Bill stopped with one foot shoved in his boot, the other dangling above the second shoe, “What?”

“Gordon called this morning after breakfast.”

Bill sighed and forcefully pushed his foot into his other boot, “Great. What does he want?”

“A video conference with you, me, him, and your mother today.”

“Video conference? Come on, really?” Bill complained, “It's not like we're on a business trip for Mom.”

“I already told him about Tom.”

“What?” Bill exploded, anger spread from his chest outward, turning his face hot and red, “You fucking told Gordon about Tom?”

“Yes, I did.” Gordon remained calm despite Bill's display of rage, “I thought it would be best to break the news before we got into the conference. I want to give him a chance to discuss it with your mother.”

“Discuss? Discuss what?” Bill argued, “What is there to discuss? If I can be friends with him or not? No, that's bullshit, Peter. You can't tell me who to be friends with and neither can Mom or Gordon.”

“Listen, Bill, you have to realize how the situation could look.”

“How it could look?” Bill echoed in disbelief, “That's ironic, Peter, because no one ever questioned me sharing a cabin with _you_ all month.”

Spinning on his heel and marching toward the door, Bill didn't give Peter even a chance to erupt in righteous indignation. He left the cabin, slamming the door loudly behind him and starting off across the yard at a jog. He didn't realize he was crying until the distant sight of the main house blurred and swam before his eyes. Breathing erratically, he dropped to his knees in the grass and tried to catch his breath. Tears dripped quickly down his cheeks though he sniffed hard to keep the sobs contained. His mind was racing with anger, memories, all the things he wanted to say to his Mom, to Gordon. . .All the things he _couldn't_ tell them. How many years had it been that he had been walking around with this secret? He was starting to lose count even as the endless days of his tortured silence loomed before him.

At last, Bill picked himself up off the ground and took a slower pace up to the main house. He wiped his face repeatedly, hoping red eyes would not betray to Tom that he had been crying. He didn't want Tom to ask questions because that would only lead to more tears and anger. He wasn't ready to explain all his problems to Tom, though Tom was the first person in years that he thought he may one day be able to trust.

Bill stopped by the main house and asked the receptionist where Tom might be at this time of the day. He was instructed to the training rings where Bill found Tom running a long-legged chestnut in a slow easy circle by a lead rope.

Bill leaned against the fence and watched as Tom continued, unaware of Bill's presence. Tom was dressed in a pair of worn jeans, but the plaid shirt he had once worn over the undershirt was discarded over the side of the fence. His muscular, bronzed arms were bare under the afternoon sunlight, offering Bill a rather delicious view. Beneath his cowboy hat, loose strands of honey brown hair tugged free of his loose bun and clung to his perspiring neck. Bill attentively soaked up each detail, and quietly wondered what it would be like if Tom were wearing even less. . .

After several circuits around the yard, Tom slowly reeled the horse in until they stood nose-to-nose. Tom whispered something to the horse and stroked it's nose lovingly. Bill watched in admiration as Tom grabbed at the horse's mane and swung himself up, bareback. The pair made a few rounds about the ring before Tom tugged at the harness, leading the chestnut through a series of backwards, forwards, and sideways steps, that indicated hours of practice.

At least fifteen minutes passed before Tom even noticed that Bill was watching. When his eyes finally latched onto Bill's, he gave an impish grin, “Hey, Bill. How long have you been there for?”

“Oh, not long.” Bill replied as Tom nudged the horse over the fence, where Bill stood.

“Ready for lessons?” Tom asked, readjusting his hat.

Bill nodded, “Yes. Definitely.”

Tom frowned for a moment and then checked his watch, “Wow. You're up early today.”

Bill shrugged, “I have something to get up for.”

Tom's smile reappeared, “I'm glad to hear you're excited. Let me get Roxy put away and then we'll see about saddling up Prissy.”

Tom tapped his heels to Roxy's sides and they began a slow walk to the gate. Bill walked parallel to them, sticking his hands in his pockets. Squinting up at Tom against the bright sun, he asked, “So when will I be able to ride like that?”

Tom laughed, “I've been here for six years, and I don't quite have some of those turns down. But you know what? I think you're a natural. You have a good instinct for the horses.”

“Really?” Bill asked, surprised.

“Yeah. You're a beginner, but you show promise.”

“Cool.” Bill smiled, widely, “I want to be just like you, Tom.”

They reached the open gate and Tom slid down from Roxy's back. Putting his arm around Bill's shoulders, he replied, “Bill, I think you're wonderful and special just being you.”

Bill dropped his head and stared at the grass, unable to form a reply. No one had ever said something so sweet to him before; he felt an emotional lump form in his throat. Tom squeezed him tighter and Bill eagerly leaned into the hug. Tom damp with sweat, but he smelled good – stubbornly lingering cologne, and the outdoors, like fresh, tasty water splashing Bill's senses.

He opened his eyes to the front doors of the barn and let go of Tom, rather unwillingly. The quiet of the barn was in stark contrast to his raging thoughts. The argument with Peter still lingered in the back of his mind, but he knew a day with Tom would make things better. Things with Tom always were because he didn't know everything Bill had done or experienced; he didn't know the pain, or the anger, or the acts of rebellion just to get a little genuine attention. He hadn't been there for all the fights with Gordon or Simone. It was a fresh start, a clean slate. With Tom, Bill could be the kind of person he had always wanted to be, but could only dream of becoming. He wasn't delinquent, rebellious, troublesome Bill; he was special, cared for and loved.

On top of all those things, Tom was appealing. Despite their fight the night before about boundaries, Bill couldn't shake the butterflies Tom gave him. It started low in his stomach and spread out from there, touching his whole body. The way he talked, smiled, laughed, smelled. . .It was all perfect and Bill felt thirsty for more.

Tom stabled Roxy and instructed one of the other nearby hands to bathe and feed her while Bill and Tom took off down the aisle to find Prissy's stall. The big, gentle mare eagerly stuck her nose between the bars at Bill's hand when they approached.

“Hey, girl.” Bill murmured, giggling at Prissy's tongue tickled his fingertips.

“I knew you two would be friends.” Tom grinned as he opened the padlock, “Come on inside and I'll show you how to properly saddle her.”

Bill followed Tom into the stable, glancing about carefully for signs of manure. As much as he liked being around the horses, he didn't want his favorite biker boots to become soiled with horse shit.

Tom showed Bill step by step how to put on the bridle and saddle, offering praise and more instruction as Bill tried to do it all by himself. When they reached the cinch of the saddle around Prissy's stomach, Tom reached his arms around Bill to pull it tighter, trapping Bill in the circle of his arms.

“You have to make it tight enough so that it doesn't slip off when you're riding, but not so tight that it hurts her.” Tom continued, his breath hot against Bill's ear.

With a shudder, Bill realized that his pants had suddenly grown uncomfortably tight over his crotch. Heat flooded his cheeks and he tried to stand still as Tom's arms flexed around him, cinching the saddle tight.

“There.” Tom reached up to pat Prissy's neck, allowing Bill out of his arms.

Bill slowly turned around to face Tom, gazing up at the older man with wide, desirous eyes. Tom glanced down, his gaze catching on Bill's wide-eyed expression.

“Bill. . .” He began, quietly, “We should go. ..”

“Tom. ..” Bill grabbed at Tom's waist, suddenly terrified to leave this stable.

What if Tom realized Bill's intentions and left? What if he never came back?

“Why. . .Why should we?” Bill whispered, breathlessly, “I just want to stay here, with you.”

“Bill.” Tom reached up to touch his cheek.

His expression was worried, his brow knitted into a frown of frustration. Bill could see the longing in Tom's dark eyes, but he knew that the rancher would pull away. The boundaries discussion had happened only last night, and Bill knew Tom wasn't going to change his mind in a few short hours.

Bill leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Tom's waist. Pressing his cheek against Tom's chest, he closed his eyes and tried to breath. His heart was pounding, heat flaring through his bloodstream at jolting intervals. The pressure at his core was throbbing at a dull ache, a stiff reminder of his need.

“Bill, talk to me.” Tom murmured, patting Bill's back, “What's wrong?”

“I had a fight with Peter this morning.” Bill admitted, “Gordon called saying that we have to have a video conference with him and Mom tonight. . .I don't _want_ to, Tom! I just want to stay with you!”

“A video conference?”

“Yeah. Gordon will Skype us from his office and they'll drill me about how it's going here on the ranch, and my attitude and shit like that. . .” Bill murmured, leaning back to meet Tom's eyes, but keeping his arms locked around Tom's waist.

“At least they care enough to call and not just leave you here for a month. ..” Tom said, trying to be optimistic.

“Peter told Gordon about you.” Bill added, his voice dipping into a rough whisper, “I'm afraid they'll say I can't hang out with you.”

“They don't even know me.” Tom argued, quietly, “They can't say that.”

“That's what I told Peter, but. . .” Bill shrugged, “If Gordon says it, it has to be done.”

“What's going to happen if you continue to hang out with me?” Tom asked, worriedly.

“They'll take my phone, my ipod, all my hair products and make up. . .Pretty much everything I like.” Bill shrugged, “Gordon might beat my ass when I get home.”

“Literally?” Tom asked, his expression horrified.

Bill pulled away from Tom and paced to the other corner of the stall, his arms wrapped tightly around his slender body. Was he revealing too much? He wanted so badly to trust Tom and be able to confide in him all the things Bill was afraid of. . .But could he? Could he find the courage to open up?

“Bill. . .”

Bill felt Tom's hand on his shoulder and relaxed benath the gentle grasp.

“You don't have to tell me everything. I just. . .I'm here if you want to talk about it.”

“Thank you.” Bill whispered.

“Do you want to go riding now?” Tom asked, steering them away from the dismal subject.

“Yeah.” Bill nodded, “I'd like that.”

 

~

 

Grassy hills rolled on before them, bordered by a vast sea of dark, green trees, beneath a cloudless blue sky. The scene was serene, blissful, but Tom's mind was full and overflowing with anxious thoughts.

What Bill had revealed to him in the barn was a bit hard to digest for a man who had been raised in a loving family. Though money had sometimes been tight, and the loss of his father had been debilitating, Tom had always considered his childhood to be bright, happy, and nurturing. At only seventeen, Bill's young life was so full of conflict, mistrust, and anger that Tom could have confronted Simone and Gordon himself with a rather lengthy lecture on good parenting. It wasn't fair that such a beautiful, intelligent young man like Bill should be treated so unfairly by the people that should have loved him unconditionally. Instead, Bill was stuck with parents who treated him like a problem, and dealt with that problem as if it were another one of their business deals. Who ever heard of a video conference when it should be a family meeting?

“You're quiet.” Bill's gentle voice interrupted Tom's turmoiled thoughts.

“I don't like to see you down, that's all.” Tom replied.

Bill shrugged, “Get used to it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Tom asked, “I intend to make your time here as enjoyable as possible.”

“I know _you_ won't piss me off.” Bill replied, “It's Peter and fucking Gordon that always mess things up.”

“Well, since its just us right now, let's try to forget about them.” Tom suggested, smiling for Bill's sake.

“Yeah, sure.”

The answer was bland, the kind that Bill gave adults to placate them when he would've rather said nothing at all. Tom wanted to cheer the boy up, but Bill was hard to please when he had it in his mind that he was pouting.

“Hey, “Tom said, an idea striking him, “do you wanna go someplace cool with me?”

Bill's expression brightened, “Yeah. What is it?”

Tom hitched his chin ahead of them, “Its only about fifteen minutes that way. Follow me.”

Urging Tony into a canter, Tom led the way across the flat expanse of grass to a sight on the ranch he often visited. As they neared it, the rushing sound of water grew to a dull roar.

“What is that?” Bill called from behind.

“You'll see!” Tom yelled over his shoulder.

Prissy caught up to Tony and they ran side by side until Tom slowed them down. A stony embankment rose up to meet the grass, leading down to a jutting plateau of rock. Through the trees, Tom could glimpse the clear, white spray of Miranda's little waterfall. Tom led them down into the small valley and dismounted. He tied Tony off on a tree branch and instructed Bill to do the same. Bill anchored Prissy to the tree and hurried forward, his big eyes growing even wider as he took in the sight of the tumbling waterfall and the rushing stream that passed below the rock they stood on.

“Wow.” He murmured, standing as close to the edge as possible and gazing down.

It was quite a drop, but Tom had jumped it before. Swimming in the lake was cold, but it was fun and exhilarating.

Bill took a step back, “That's pretty far down.”

“Yeah. . .Me and some of the other hands have jumped in before when it's really hot in the summer.”

“Really?” Bill's brows rose in awe.

“Yeah. You don't want to know how cold it is though.” Tom chuckled.

“ I think I do.” Bill smiled, “Can we go swimming someday, Tom?”

Tom shrugged, “Sure. On a day that it's hot enough. You can freeze jumping in there.”

“I wanna do it.” Bill nodded, eagerly, “It looks like so much fun.”

“Okay.” Tom agreed, “We'll do it.”

They stood at the water's edge, talking for several more minutes before Tom glanced at his watch and suggested that they get back for lunch.

They mounted up and Tom went first, carefully leading Tony up the rocks and back to level ground. He had just reached the grass when he heard a clatter of rocks and a sharp yelp behind him. Spinning around in the saddle, Tom was horrified to see Bill's slender figure tumble from Prissy's back and land painfully on the rocks. Jumping down from Tony's back, Tom darted back down the rocks, shouting, “Bill? Are you okay?”

Bill sat up slowly, his face twisted in pain, “Fucking A, that hurt.”

“Are you okay?” Tom repeated, crouching down next to Bill, “God, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you to be more careful.”

“Its okay.” Bill grimaced, “I'm fine. I just. . .”

Bill's voice trailed off as they both looked down to see the blood welling from a nasty cut on his forearm.

“Jesus.” Tom swore, “You're bleeding! This isn't good. Damnit, I shouldn't have brought you down here when you're so inexperienced.”

“Tom, it's okay.” Bill repeated, “It's just a little cut.”

“No, I feel terrible.” Tom shook his head, “I'm taking you back to my cabin so I can clean and wrap that up.”

“I thought you said no cabin.” Bill murmured with a naughty glint in his eye.

Tom laced his arm under Bill's and lifted the feather-light boy from the ground. Bill protested that he could walk, but Tom half-carried him up the stony incline until they reached the grass. Instead of letting him mount Prissy, however, he led Bill over to Tony.

“What?” Bill asked.

“Get up there.” Tom motioned, “I'm not letting you ride by yourself when you're injured.”

“I said I was okay-”

“Bill.” Tom interrupted, his voice firm, “Please mount Tony.”

Bill held up a hand, “Okay.”

Tom helped Bill up into the saddle and then swung himself up behind Bill. Protectively circling his arms around the boy, he picked up the reins and called for Prissy to follow them. They started off across grass toward the cabins, their bodies smashed together atop Tony. Despite the worry and panic raging in Tom's chest, he was also distracted by the scent of Bill's soft hair and the cologne he was wearing. They were so close Tom glance over and see the tiny pores in his skin, each individual eyelash, the moisture shining on his lips, the distinctive beauty mark on the lower, right side of his mouth. Tom wanted to call this intoxicating creature something eloquent like _beautiful_ or _enchanting_ , but all his mind could muster was _hot._ So fucking hot. The image of Bill down on his knees, naked, flushed, _lustful_ flashed so quickly through his mind that he could hardly comprehend where it had come from. He could feel his crotch growing hard between their connected bodies, surely digging into Bill's tailbone in a way that couldn't be ignored.

Tom was relieved when they finally made it to the cabins. Tom glanced around to see if anyone was peering out the window of their cabin, or just passing by. But no one was around; they were probably all at lunch by now. They were going to be late again.

Tom dismounted and tethered both of the horses outside before helping Bill down from Tony. Leading Bill into the cabin, Tom set the boy down at the kitchen table and went in search of his first aid kit. He found it in the closet in his bedroom, fully stocked and ready for use as he always instructed all the hands' kits to be. He paused with the kit in hand and breathed slowly in and out. The hard-on was easing with the reminder that Bill was hurt, but the erotic image his mind had created was branded on his memory. How would he go on from here, pretending that he just wanted to be Bill's friend? How had this intense need developed so quickly?

Tom forced himself to walk back out into the kitchen with platonic thoughts only. He knelt down in front of Bill and carefully examined the cut. The bruised and split skin was dark and ugly against Bill's pale, usually unblemished skin.

Bill obediently held out his arm as Tom found a rag, soaked in warm water, to wash the wound with before applying gauze and the bandage. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches, but it would leave a rather noticeable scab, maybe even a scar.

“How am I going to explain this to Peter?” Bill wondered with a groan, “He's going to be so pissed when he finds out I got hurt when I was with you.”

Tom chewed on his lower lip, perplexed by the question. He couldn't ignore the fact that Bill's fall was just another point against him in the conflict with Peter.

“Let's just focus on getting this bandaged.” Tom said, “We'll deal with Peter later.”

Bill glanced around the small, but tidy kitchen, “Do you have food here?”

“Some.”

“Can't we just stay here for lunch?” Bill asked, his eyes pleading.

“I want to say yes, Bill, but I'm the VP. Natalie expects me to be at that table, by her side, for every meal.”

Bill sighed, “I guess.”

Tom finished wrapping Bill's arm and laid it softly in his lap, “There. . .Does it hurt? Do you need some medicine?”

“Yeah, it hurts.” Bill murmured.

“Okay. I think I have some painkiller around here somewhere.”

Tom rose to his feet and went in search of the medicine, still kicking himself. How could he have been so careless? Bill was so new at riding, Tom should have known not to take him down that rocky incline, even if it was for the spectacular waterfall. He should have foreseen the danger. . .

Tom discovered some Advil in the bathroom cupboard and headed back to the kitchen. His mind was still turning, berating himself for Bill's fall when he re-entered the kitchen to find Bill leaning against the counter. . .shirtless.

Tom stopped mid-stride, almost dropping the Advil.

“My shirt got blood on it.” Bill explained, indicating to the discarded shirt that lay on the table.

“Oh.” Tom swallowed hard.

It was difficult not to let his eyes remain on Bill's bare chest to long. Though Bill was thin, his ribs visible through the pale, blue-veined barrier of his skin, Tom thought it was the most perfect body he had ever seen. His pecs had small, but high, firm shape, decorated by dusky, hard nipples, and his long, torso was flat – not an ounce of fat – that curved down into those hips that Tom had noticed from the beginning. A tattoo of a triple star marked his right hip, right next to the jutting bone, and disappeared beneath the low-riding waistband of his boxers. With the shirt gone, Tom could see that Bill wore his pants low, with a studded belt that barely held the jeans up above his crotch. It was a sight for very sore eyes – eyes that hadn't seen this kind of skin in over six years. . .

Tom took a halting step forward, struggling for words.

Bill's eyes were dark and excited as he pushed away from the counter and sauntered over to Tom. He plucked the Advil from Tom's hand and murmured a husky, “Thanks.”

He went back to the counter and popped two of the pills in his mouth. Leaning forward, he turned on the water and drank directly from the faucet. Tom watched in lust as Bill bent over the sink, lifting his rounded ass until his pants began to slide even lower.

Tom gave himself a shake and tried to tear his eyes away when Bill straightened and turned around. Swiping his hand over the back of his mouth, Bill held out a hand to Tom. Despite the logic pounding against his brain, Tom took the few stumbling steps forward to stand just a foot away from Bill. Bill placed a hand on Tom's chest, right over his pounding heart.

“Thank you.” He whispered, “For taking care of me.”

Tom nodded, clearing his throat, “You're welcome. . .It's the least I could do. . .for letting you fall like that.”

Bill's hand moved up to Tom's cheek, his long nails stroking softly over the stubble, “You're too good to me.”

“I should be better.” Tom replied, his voice hardly a whisper, a grinding with desire.

Without telling himself to, Tom took a step closer, trapping Bill between himself and the counter. He grabbed onto the edge of the counter and pushed his thigh between Bill's legs. Need was driving his actions and the voice of his reason was muffled, unheeded, somewhere in the back of his mind. All he knew for certain was that he wanted Bill.

Bill's mouth moved closer, pulling Tom's gaze in. They were so full and luscious, painted in a sparkling pink that made Tom's insides go weak. He opened his mouth a little, feeling his tastebuds water almost painfully. God, how he wanted to taste that perky mouth, delve his tongue in and search out Bill's own wet, hot tongue.

“Tom. . .” Bill murmured, his lips so close that Tom could feel each tiny breath.

“Bill. . .God. . .” Tom panted.

One hand wrenched away from the counter to grasp at Bill's hair. His fingers twisted in the soft strands, tilting Bill's head back until his mouth was open, exposed. Bill's gaze met Tom's with distinct want, their dark depths blazing. His hips undulated softly against Tom's, rubbing his hardness into Tom's own throbbing erection. Tom groaned, dragging Bill closer, touching that perfect skin with one calloused hand. He dragged his palm down Bill's spine and over to his hip, stroking his thumb firmly over one jutting hipbone.

“Tom. . .Tom. .” Bill chanted, softly, his his drifting shut, his hips grinding harder.

Tom lurched forward, bringing his mouth to soft, velvety skin of Bill's bare shoulder. It tasted so sweet and felt so soft beneath Tom's lips, he nearly lost himself to ecstasy that very moment. Bill's slender frame shuddered in his grasp. He kissed and sucked all along Bill's shoulder and neck, testing the pounding of his pulse and feeling it ricochet faster. Lips and tongue tracing along Bill's jaw, Tom groaned softly, overpowered by need. His hips drove hard against Bill's, his cock fighting to be free of his boxers and jeans. The dull throb had turned to an intense, driving pulse that nearly ached with want. He couldn't take in Bill's perfect skin fast enough, couldn't find it within himself to stop.

Tom tore his mouth away from Bill's jaw and their eyes met. Bill's gaze was wide and needy, but a fear rested there that Tom had not noticed before. He hesitated for a single moment, and his confidence came crashing down. He had sworn to protect this boy, not use him. And if Bill were afraid of turning their relationship sexual, Tom could not – would not – force him to do anything.

Tom stumbled backwards, breathing hard. He leaned against the kitchen table, staring at his boots in disbelief. He could hardly believe that he had just done that. He had _touched_ Bill, kissed him, aroused him. . .Jesus, what was he doing?

Bill leaned heavily against the counter, his eyes round. His erection still obviously protruded from beneath his jeans and he lowered a hand to adjust it. Tom watched the action with longing, wondering if he should've at least touched it while he could. What if he had gotten the wrong message from Bill? What if Bill hadn't wanted the intimacy? What if he were mad?

“Bill. . .” Tom lifted his eyes, pleadingly, “I'm sorry. . .I didn't mean. . .I shouldn't have done that. . .”

Bill pushed away from the counter and grabbed his shirt from the table. He slowly put it back on and fidgeted with the hem. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes black with arousal.

Long silence stretched between them before Bill whispered, “We should go to lunch.”

Tom nodded, “Yes.”

Bill headed for the door, but Tom hurried after him, catching him by the arm, “Bill, wait. . .”

Bill stopped, letting his hand slide from the doorknob.

“Can we . . .talk later?” Tom asked, hopefully.

“About what just happened?” Bill questioned, honestly.

“Yes, I. . .Those boundaries I was talking about. . .I think they need revised.”

Bill nodded, “Okay. . . But I have the video conference with my Mom and Gordon later, so. . .”

“Whenever you get a chance. Please. . .I want to. . .to make this right.” Tom lowered his head, ashamed with himself for losing control.

“Tom.”

Tom felt Bill's hand on his cheek once more, and he looked up to meet, soft, unaccusing eyes, “Don't worry.” Bill whispered, “You didn't do anything wrong.”

Then he was gone, leaving Tom staring out the open door after Bill's receding figure, wondering what in the hell that was supposed to mean.

 

 


	6. The Conference

Dinner was already halfway over when Bill and Tom arrived. Similar to the last two times, Natalie and Peter admonished their tardiness with unhappy glares. They slunk into their seats, both avoiding their superiors' burning gazes. The cooks brought out plates for them despite the late hour, but neither seemed very hungry.

Bill did his best to eat the food set out before him, but his stomach was tied into a million knots and inhabited by butterflies. His body was still thrumming with the after affects, and his mind replayed the scene over and over again. It was the single most erotic moment of his life – an older, more experienced man touching him, pleasuring him. . .Tom's rough, work-calloused hands had been more of a turn-on than any soft-skinned girl he had necked with back home. Bill was sure that if he got Tom into bed with him, it would be beyond compare. He had turned Bill to jelly with a single touch; he could only imagine what _sex_ would be like.

His only worry was that Tom would stop like he had in the cabin. He understood that Tom was worried about Bill being a minor, but to be honest, Bill didn't give a shit. He wanted Tom like he hadn't wanted anything else in his life, and he was determined to have him.

Bill's hot, exciting thoughts quickly turned sour when dinner came to and end and Peter appeared at his side.

“Bill, I think now would be a good time for that conference with your parents.” Peter intoned quietly in Bill's ear.

Bill gave a weary sigh, but nodded in agreement. The conference was unavoidable because Gordon had called it. With his mom, Bill could buy time and explain things away. But Gordon was a different story. Bill was not his flesh and blood, and he was willing to go to extremes to keep the rebellious teen under subjection.

Bill turned to Tom, “I have to go.”

Tom nodded, a concerned frown knitting his brow, “Okay.” He glanced around the table and then leaned over to whisper, “Come find me when it's over.”

Bill nodded in agreement and rose to follow Peter. They made their way silently across the yard, Peter in the lead, Bill lagging behind. He felt as if he were making the walk to the guillotine. . .The death of his friendship – perhaps more – with Tom. More than anything, he wanted to save what he had with Tom, but Gordon had his ways. Bill was afraid Gordon would lay down the law, and he would never see Tom again.

Upon arriving at the cabin, Peter pulled up a second chair to his desk for Bill to sit at and texted Gordon that they were ready to begin. They only had to wait a few moments before their Skype connected and Gordon's office came into view. Gordon and Simone were seated close together, Gordon's expression dour, Simone's eager.

A broad smile broke out across his mother's face, “Hey, baby. How are you doing.”

Bill sank lower in his seat. He hated it when she called him that. He wasn't her baby anymore and both of them knew it.

“Fine.” He mumbled.

“Speak up, boy.” Gordon insisted.

“I said, I'm fine.” Bill replied, loudly.

Gordon made a face and glanced over at Simone with a look that said “I told you so.”

“Peter, how are things on the ranch going?” Simone asked, ignoring her husband's attitude.

“Well, so far Bill has been late for lunch or dinner three times and hasn't shown up to breakfast at all.” Peter reported, crossing his arms, “He won't do any group activities and stays out all day with this guy. . .”

“The vice president you told us about?” Simone asked, patiently.

“Yes.” Peter confirmed.

“All right, Bill. Who is this guy?” Gordon cut in, glaring at Bill via the computer screen.

“He's a friend.” Bill insisted, “I don't know why Peter is freaking out.”

“Is it true, you've been out all day with him?” Gordon pressed.

Bill sighed, “I guess.”

“Bill, honey, how old is he?” Simone asked, anxiously.

“I don't know.” Bill shrugged.

Bill had known it would turn out like this. Once Peter told Gordon about Tom, it had been the beginning of the end. They didn't care about anything else on the ranch but Tom's involvement with Bill.

“I don't know if I'm comfortable with you being gone all day with a stranger. . .and an older man.” Simone replied.

“Mom! He's the vice president and the lead horse trainer. He's smart and nice and fun.” Bill argued, “He's not just some guy off the street I met last night. He's practically the boss around here.”

That last part might have been a bit of a stretch, but Bill didn't care. He was willing to say anything to convince Gordon and Simone that Tom was okay.

Simone looked over at Peter, “Is that true?”

Peter grumbled a bit, then shrugged, “Yeah, it's true.”

“Look, I don't care what credentials this guy has.” Gordon said, putting his hands up, “Bill is a minor, and if anything should happen-”

“What if you could talk to him?” Bill asked, “If you asked him all the questions you wanted, and saw what a great guy he is, would you be convinced?”

Silence took over the room. What Bill was suggesting was new territory. Bill had never had a friend he was this serious about that he was willing to fight for it.

“Well, I definitely want to know who this guy is before I let him traipse off with my son.” Simone said, carefully, “I don't know. . .Gordon?”

Gordon leaned forward, closer to the screen, “All right, look. I'm glad you're making friends for once, Bill. But do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes.” Bill spat, “I understand.”

He wanted to say more, but he could not. He wanted to scream all the things he had been holding back, because this was the perfect opportunity. . .but as always, fear overtook his heart. His lips clamped shut and he swallowed back the indignation.

“As for all this shit about you not showing up to dinner and lunch on time. . .you need to learn to behave right, boy.” Gordon chided, “This isn't some barn we dropped you off at where you can act like an animal. What did your mother and I teach you?”

Bill sighed, and rolled his eyes.

“Attitude check, Bill.” Gordon growled, “You are the kid here, and you will listen to me. You are not to show up late to lunch or dinner again or I will instruct Peter to take away your phone and ipod. He can even mail it back home if he wants.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bill broke free of his chair and jumped to his feet, “It's not like I'm doing it on purpose. I just lose track of time!”

“Sit down!” Gordon's rising voice caused static in the little speakers of the laptop.

Bill sank back to the chair, fighting bouts of anger and tears.

“Now you listen to me – I don't care what your excuse is. My statement still stands. You are going to behave right for these people. They are giving you a place to live and food for your stomach for a whole month, and you're going to appreciate it. You are going to go out there and participate and _socialize._ You are going to be _good._ Do you understand?”

Bill clenched his jaw and lifted watery eyes to Gordon's angry visage, glaring at him from the screen.

“I said, do you understand?” Gordon repeated.

“Yes!” Bill cried, throwing his hands up.

“And if you throw attitude at me one more, you are going to get it when you get back.”

Bill swallowed back a harsh wave of tears, easily imaging what Gordon would've done if sheer distance had not separated them at this very moment.

Gordon jumped up out of his chair and left the conference, slamming the door behind him from the loud bang that rattled through the speakers. The other three were left sitting in silence, staring at their laps.

At last, Simone cleared her throat and scooted closer to the screen, “Bill.”

“What?” Bill snapped, wiping hurriedly at his eyes.

“I'm sorry, honey, but you have to respect him.”

“Whatever.” Bill muttered, his heart clenching with anger.

“Does this man. . .this _Tom_ really mean that much to you?”

Bill glanced over at Peter, who was still watching on with a careful poker face. He didn't want to say anything incriminating in front of Peter most of all because Peter would be with him night and day for the next month with very watchful eyes.

“Yes.” Bill answered, weakly, “He's my friend.”

“Okay.” Simone said, gently, “I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“Does that mean I can just hang out with him?” Bill asked, hopefully.

“For now.” Simone nodded, “And, Bill. . .I'm glad you're making at least one friend. The last thing I wanted was for you to get there and be lonely.”

Bill wanted to roll his eyes and say, Y _eah right. You didn't give two shits about what happened once I got here. . .Not until Tom started taking care of me better than you._

Instead, he gave a simple nod and said nothing at all.

“Will that be all, Simone?” Peter asked, “I think Bill has had a long day and needs some sleep.”

“Yes.” Simone nodded, “And just so you know, we'd like to have a conference like this at least once a week, just to check up on things.”

Bill gave an inward groan. Every week? That seemed like an eternity of video conferences – an eternity of Gordon yelling at him for all the things he did wrong. An eternity of Simone acting so sanctimonious and condescending, pretending that she cared. . .

“All right. Thank you for your time.” Peter said, “Goodnight, Simone.”

“Goodnight, Peter. . . .Goodnight, Bill. I love you.”

Bill didn't even look up to return the farewell before the call was ended. Peter quietly shut down his laptop and rose from the chair. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, about to comment about the intensity of the conference when he noticed the bandage on Bill's arm.

“Bill, my God!” Peter grasped Bill's wrist, lifting his arm to inspect the bandage, “What happened?”

“Nothing!” Bill yanked his arm out of Peter grip, suddenly thankful that Peter hadn't noticed until after the conference.

“That's not nothing! What happened?”

Bill jumped up from his chair and began to walk away but Peter caught him by the shoulder, “Bill Trumper, you tell me what happened to your arm right this minute!”

“I fell. . .I tripped and fell, that's all.”

“How? When?”

“Earlier, when I was out. . .It was an accident.” Bill explain, leaving out the part about his being atop a horse when he fell.

“Out with Tom?”

“Yes, but he bandaged it, so it's fine.” Bill insisted.

“Well maybe he shouldn't have let it happen in the first place.” Peter said, distrustfully.

“He can't stop me from tripping on a rock neither of us saw.” Bill replied, pulling out of Peter's grasp and heading for the front door, “He took care of me. . .For once in my life, someone took care of me.”

 

~

 

Tom was up and out of his seat in seconds when he heard the knock on the front door of his cabin. He rushed through the kitchen and pulled the door open, relieved to see that it was Bill, and not Peter, coming to tell Tom his relationship with Bill was over.

He was suddenly accosted with an armful of Bill as the boy leaped over the threshold and onto Tom. Tom caught Bill up in his arms, holding the shivering boy close to his chest as Bill began to sob.

“Bill, what's wrong?” Tom cried in alarm.

“It's them. . .” Bill cried, clinging to Tom's shirt, “My mom. . . _Gordon_. . .”

Tom shut the front door and gently guided Bill over the table. Pulling out a chair, he lowered Bill into it and quickly sat down across from him, “It went that badly?”

Bill nodded, wiping at his eyes, “Peter pretty much threw you under the bus, and Gordon yelled at me about showing up late for lunch, and my mom said we have to have a conference every week. . .”

“God, Bill. . .I'm sorry.” Tom replied, sincerely.

“I feel like you're the only person that cares about me.” Bill whispered, reaching out to take Tom's hands in his own.

Tom hesitated to cross the barrier of holding hands, but he consoled himself with the fact that Bill was upset, not in a sexual mindset.

“So, what did they say about. . .about me?” Tom asked, worriedly.

“Gordon doesn't trust you. . .I think my mom _wants_ to, but Peter keeps telling them bad things . . . We're okay to keep hanging out right now, but it could change.” Bill's voice began to quaver, and he lifted his thing shoulders, “I. . .I don't want to lose you, Tom.”

“Neither do I.” Tom whispered, pulling Bill forward into a hug, “It'll be okay.”

“I don't even care if they take my phone or my ipod.” Bill cried, “I don't care as long as I can have you!”

“I know, I know.” Tom cradled Bill's head to his shoulder, rocking him gently, “It's gonna be okay. I've got you.”

They stayed in that position for several minutes before Bill finally sat back, wiping his red, swollen eyes, “I should go.” He whispered, miserably, “Peter will send out a search party for me if I don't go back to the cabin.”

“You're right.” Tom agreed, grudgingly.

They got up from the table and Tom put his arm around Bill's waist. He led Bill to the front door but paused there, unwilling to let him go. He drew Bill's slender body into a tight hug and stroked the back of Bill's soft head.

“I'm sorry all this had to happen to you.” He whispered against Bill's ear, “And I _so_ wish I could change it.”

Bill drew back and gazed into Tom's eyes with a brief smile, “You already have.”

Tom found himself at that point again, stroking Bill's smooth cheekbone, holding the boy close. . . _wanting_ more. Bill was compliant in his arms, his lips upturned in a beckoning pose. Despite the puffy state of his eyes and his red cheeks, he still looked appealing to Tom.

“Oh, darling. . .” The groan slipped from Tom's lips, unbeckoned. His fingers grazed along Bill's jaw and throat, searching out the flesh he had touched so intimately earlier that day.

“Tom. . .” Bill's voice was lax, weary.

Tom had no intention of taking advantage of Bill's vulnerability, but he could not stop himself. The temptation was far too strong, the prize too beautiful. His lips descended on Bill's, gentle at first, testing the waters. The first taste was stronger than wine and it pulled him in before he could even reconsider his actions. Sliding his fingers behind Bill's neck, he guided Bill's head into the perfect angle where Tom could offer full, open-mouthed kisses, punctuated by slight grazes of his tongue. Bill moaned into Tom's mouth, his fingers curling around Tom's shirt as the contact grew heavier, hotter.

Tom crowded in closer, pushing Bill up against the door and rubbing the full length of his body against Bill's. Bill leaned compliantly against the door, his mouth gradually returning the kisses Tom was lavishing on him. Their tongues began to sweep together, touching, dancing until Tom's mouth was full of the taste of Bill's sweet saliva. The hard-on he had worked all dinner to suppress was suddenly back with force, throbbing down there with only his sweatpants to contain him instead of his jeans this time.

Need pounded harder through his body, begging for more skin to skin contact. Tom grabbed at Bill's waist and then lower, feeling warm, round flesh come to rest in his palm. He had never meant for a simple, loving kiss to grow so heated, but now he was groping Bill's ass, so drunk with pleasure he could hardly do a proper job of it. His senses were swimming in Bill. . .only Bill.

Suddenly, through the haze of pleasure, Tom heard a voice, loud and harsh, yelling out Bill's name. Yanking himself back, Tom gasped in a breath of air and tore his hands from Bill's ass.

“Shit!” Bill cried, wiping at his wet, swollen mouth to remove the evidence, “It's Peter.”

“You have to go.” Tom said, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. . .”

“Boundaries, huh?” Bill smiled teasingly despite his earlier despair, “We'll see about that one, Tom.”

Tom reached out for one last touch, but Bill slipped out the door and escaped into the night, going to face a world Tom hated to admit existed. He let the door shut behind Bill and leaned up against it, breathing hard. His body was still geared for pleasure, throbbing intensely despite the scare. Against all logic, Tom reached down to touch his erection through the sweatpants and felt the flesh jump with need. It was begging him. . .He _needed_ it.

Tom swore softly under his breath and yanked his hand away. He wasn't going to objectify Bill like that when the boy was under such duress from his parents. It was best if Tom went to bed and woke up the next morning trying to be Bill's friend, not his lover. And if the turmoil going on in Bill's home life wasn't enough, there was also the fact of their age difference that warned Tom not to get involved. . .not _that_ way. But he already was. He had first touched Bill, and now he had kissed him. He was already in too deep, possibly too deep to get back out.

Tom did his best to shake the thoughts and went about getting ready for bed. But even after his nightly routine that normally had him relaxed and ready to sleep, he was still wide awake with thoughts of Bill. He lay against the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut. The darkness of the room gave him the freedom of feeling as if no one was watching or privy of his thoughts, and so he let them go, wander into dangerous territory. He retraced the first incident that day, remembering how Bill had looked, leaned up against the counter with nothing but his pants on. He remembered how Bill's skin felt, how it tasted, the way Bill had ground up against him, hardness prodding at Tom's own erection. Their lips had almost touched then, but Tom had somehow managed to hold back. . .But now, just a bit ago, his resolve had crumbled and he had stolen that first, potent kiss. Each second had been absolute ecstasy, each taste of those angel lips like a slice of heaven. He had wanted to stay and take, and take. . .He wanted to push Bill to the ground and shove his hard dick in between those hot, sexy lips, cum all over those flawless, rosy cheeks. And after that, he wanted to throw Bill on his stomach and go deep into his ass, screw his brains out and. . .

Tom's eyes flew open, gazing wide-eyed into the darkness. He was breathing hard, his heart pounding recklessly. His cock was up against his stomach, throbbing so hard he thought he might explode. The fantasy that had diverged from reality was so debasing and dirty that he was almost ashamed to call the thoughts his own. . .if only it hadn't been so arousing.

Unable to withhold the pleasure from himself any longer, Tom threw the covers back and ripped his sweatpants off. His trembling hand grabbed at his hard cock, jarring a loud moan from his throat. Spreading his legs apart and digging his heels in for leverage, he began to pump at his dick with a steady hand, focusing on the image of Bill in his head, hovering between Tom's spread legs, _licking_ him.

“Fuck. . .” Tom breathed into the darkness, overcome by pleasure.

He was sweating already, his body enveloped in waves of heat. He could feel the pleasure quavering low in his stomach, barely contained. It was right there on the fringes of his mind. He wanted it so, _so_ bad. He didn't want to wait!

He grabbed lower with his other hand, pressing his full, aching balls to the base of his cock and fondling them until the pleasure was like torture. His other hand pumped over his big, pulsing cock, thumbing at the head with each stroke. He could feel arousal oozing there, knew it was going to come fast.

He growled and groaned in pleasure, throwing his head back against the pillow in abandon. His body hurt from withholding the pleasure; he just wanted the ache to be gone. . .he just wanted Bill. He didn't know when this desire had gotten so out of his control, but he knew he needed a fix. One more permanent than jacking off.

He picked up the pace of his hand another notch and drove himself to the edge. . .And then, he came harder than he could remember in years. His body picked itself up from the mattress, jerking and spasming over and over again. Moans of consuming pleasure burst from his lips while the orgasm tore through him, turning his insides raw but supremely pleasure. Cum sprayed forth from his cock, dampening his stomach and thighs and dripping down his fingers in wet, sticky streams.

When at last he collapsed to the mattress, he could hardly breathe right. His body felt turned inside out with the pleasure, so weak he couldn't move.

The orgasm had broken every record of speed and pleasure he had ever set, but he opened his eyes, feeling dirty and cruel. Bill deserved far better than sucking Tom off in his fantasies, a lot more than a jack off that was over far too quickly.

All he could think was, _This has to stop._

 

 


	7. Defenses

Day 4

 

Peter was unhappy about Bill's running off, to say the least. After they returned to their cabin, he had remanded Bill to his bedroom where he would stay until morning. Return to the cabin meant remembering the video conference and souring his memory of rousing kisses Tom had lavished upon him. Bill had gone to bed sullen, angry at his parents, at Peter, at the world for being so unfair.

As the sun dawned upon a new day on the ranch, Bill opened his eyes to the memory of Tom's lips upon his. The conference was behind him and he had a new, fresh day to create better experiences with Tom. He hopped out of bed and went to the shower, his mind still reliving the kiss step by step.

He had never been kissed like that, with so much passion and need. It had been as if Tom couldn't physically stop himself; he _needed_ Bill, like he needed air to breathe. That feeling of intense desire had rested on Bill like a welcome weight, an incentive offer himself more fully.

Despite the fact that it had only been three days, Bill was convinced of the fact that he wanted Tom. At first he had been suspicious and wary of the rancher, afraid of the rough edges that surrounded a gentle heart, but now he knew the truth. Tom never wanted to hurt him – only care for him – and that had been the kind of person Bill had been searching for for years.

Bill turned the shower on hot and stood beneath the relaxing spray. He let his hands glide over his wet body, imagining they were Tom's hands. He opened his mouth to feel the fleeting touch of those sweet, perfect lips, called to life by his vibrant memory. Each second of that kiss had taken his breath away, but he wanted so much more. He wanted Tom to touch him all over, whisper his desires right in Bill's ear, _take_ him. . .over and over again.

Bill gasped as his hands slid down to circle his hard cock, standing taller, throbbing harder with each evolution of the fantasy. He was so turned on his legs felt weak, and he slid to his butt on the floor of the shower. He pulled at his cock, moaning sharply when one simple touch set his whole body aflame with need.

Splaying his legs wide across the shower, Bill found as much leverage as he could against the slippery surface and began to jack himself with a quick, pumping fist. All the blood seemed to rush to his crotch, leaving him red, and pulsing, and so sensitive. Each touch jarred a moan of pleasure from his mouth, a shiver from his body. Within moments, he was writhing and humping against the floor, so needy he could feel the desperation for climax already welling up in his chest. Clenching his jaw, he frowned in concentration and pumped his hand faster, pushing himself, _needing_ it so badly.

“Yes. . .God. . .Fuck. . .” He swore as the pleasure clawed at his insides, aching to be free. And then, a more fitting name popped from his mouth, “Oh, Tom. . .”

The pleasure sharpened inside him, dragging him to the very edge. He was right there, reaching for it. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps and his free hand flailed wildly, searching for something to hold onto.

And then it came, hitting him with a force of a semi, picking his body up off the floor of the shower, and tearing a loud cry from his throat. His feet lost their grip on the floor and he slid to the side, knocking his hip loudly against the wall. His body jerked sporadically and his mouth stretched open in a muted scream of pleasure. At last, he ejaculated, his cum jetting from his head, spraying uncontrollably.

With a few final jolts, the pleasure left his body weak and humming with pleasure. He lay on his side on the floor, breathing heavily and letting the water wash away the evidence of his orgasm. The climax had been so gratifying, he almost didn't want to get up and leave the shower. He wanted to feel that same pleasure over and over again. Reminding himself that if he wanted to see Tom he had to get up, he slowly lifted himself from the floor.

He went through the rest of his shower in autopilot, his mind still spinning with pleasure and need. Now more than ever, he knew he had to convince Tom to make their relationship sexual. He couldn't go through the rest of this month feeling the way he did, and not having the object of his affection reciprocate. It was for the best, and eventually Tom would come around to Bill's way of thinking.

 

~

 

Bill surprised Peter by showing up early to lunch. He entered the main house to find it bustling with activity in a way that hadn't been achieved since Bill's arrival. Bill wormed his way through the crowd to glimpse the person standing at the center of it all. His jaw dropped a little when he saw a beautiful young girl wearing a floral dress with a halter top that revealed smooth, tanned shoulders. Her long, blond hair fell halfway down her back in a shimmering waterfall, and Bill could notice her sharp, blue eyes even from this distance.

Bill caught himself checking her out, feeling guilty after masturbating to Tom in the shower. She _was_ beautiful, but Bill had no idea who she was. She could be a heartbreaker for all he knew. Frustrated with himself, Bill spun around the leave the lobby and ran into something very solid and delicious smelling.

“Tom!” Bill gasped, looking up to see Tom's perplexed expression gazing down at him. At first, he thought Tom had somehow managed to notice the way Bill had looked at the girl, but he quickly realized Tom's reaction wasn't out of jealousy.

“Bill. . .Hi. . .” Tom said, sounding distracted, “Sorry, I didn't mean to get in your way.”

“Its okay.” Bill murmured, then hesitated.

Tom began to move around him, and Bill followed, “So. . .what about more lessons today?”

“Oh, I. . .I don't know. . .” Tom replied, noncommittally, “I'm kind of busy today.”

Bill frowned, “You said you would make time for me.”

Tom sighed, “I'm sorry. I have responsibilities and I have missed the last three meetings with Natalie. I need to remain her partner, Bill.”

Hurt, Bill folded his arms and looked away, “Okay. Fine. I get it.”

Tom turned and walked back to Bill's side. He laid a gentle hand on Bill's shoulder, his expression pained but determined, “We'll talk later, okay?”

Bill shrugged Tom's hand off his shoulder, “Yeah, whatever.”

Tom balked for a few seconds before turning and disappearing through the doors of the mess hall. Bill watched him go, dismayed. He didn't understand why Tom was suddenly pushing him to the side, why he suddenly just didn't have time for Bill. They had spent the past three days together and Tom's responsibilities didn't seem to have gotten in the way then.

Bill suddenly felt claustrophobic in the press of the crowd, too surrounded and observed when the tears rushed to his eyes. Spinning around, Bill dashed back out of the main house and stumbled down the front steps before coming to a halt at the bottom stair. He leaned over and braced his hands on his knees, drawing in gasping breaths between sobs.

He had given Tom a chance. He had _trusted_ him, thought Tom was the right person. . ..the one could finally give himself too without fear of pain or mistrust. Why was Tom betraying him? Why?

Bill straightened, quickly wiping his face when he heard the front doors of the house bang open again. He didn't want anyone to see him crying, least of all Tom, or God forbid, Peter. Strangers would simply stare at him, wondering what was with the antisocial, emo kid crying on the front steps. No, he just wanted to be alone.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

The voice behind him didn't sound judgmental or rude. Just concerned.

Bill slowly peeked a glance over his shoulder to see who was speaking to him, or if they were speaking to him at all. He began wiping more furiously at his cheeks when he saw that it was the pretty girl everyone had been interested in. She was slowly making her way down the steps, an expression of worry twisting her beautiful features.

“I'm. . .I'm fine. . .” Bill muttered, turning his red cheeks and puffy eyes away from her.

“I saw you run out. . .I was feeling a little trapped too.”

Bill shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the prairie ahead of them.

“I'm Nora.” She introduced herself as she came to stand next to him.

Bill glanced over to see Nora holding out a tiny, delicate hand. He carefully reached out to accept the handshake, wondering if this were real.

“I'm Bill.”

She made a funny face, chuckled a little bit.

“What?” Bill demanded.

“You just don't look like a 'Bill', that's all.” She shrugged, “You look like a 'Jasper' or a 'Danny', something pretty or cute like that.”

Bill blinked rapidly. Was she hitting on him?

“Its okay, though.” She smiled, putting a hand on his arm, “I don't judge a book by it's cover.”

Bill felt his muscles relax a little and he replied, “Even one with running mascara?”

“Even that kind.” She nodded, “I won't even ask what happened. . .I mean, I just met you, so. . .”

Bill thought about Tom, about Tom rejecting him, and then about how he had first felt upon seeing Nora. She was pretty, kind, a _girl_. Bill mentally stuck his tongue out, _See what you think about this, Tom._

With a slow smile, he suggested, “So we should get to know each other better.”

 

~

 

Tom and Natalie took lunch in Natalie's office that morning, lumping the two priorities together to save time. The silence in the office was thick, practically thick enough to cut with a knife. Tom sipped on his sweet tea and shifted in his chair, trying to meet Natalie's eyes.

“All right.” Natalie said, at last. She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers, “You've missed three meetings, and usually I give you the benefit of the doubt. But then, you showed up with the new guest, late for your own horse show. . .What's going on, Tom?”

Tom drew in a deep breath. When had he forgotten how direct Natalie could be?

“I'm just trying to help a friend.” He replied, aware of how hollow the words sounded.

A friend. He and Bill weren't just friends, not anymore. Now he wasn't sure what they were since he had done the cruel thing to both of them by pushing Bill away this morning. He knew Bill would take it hard, but he hoped he could recover the relationship later on. Natalie had called the meeting rather quickly after her niece, Nora, had arrived. Tom hadn't had much time to rethink plans of private lessons.

“A friend.” Natalie echoed, “You mean Bill.”

“Yes.”

Natalie nodded slowly, “Tom, I've never had a better second than you. You know this ranch inside and out, you know how to run it out in the field, and from behind a desk. I trust you and respect you greatly, but I have to ask. . .What exactly do you think you're doing for this boy?”

Tom swallowed hard, feeling as if a knot the size of the Miranda were stuck in his throat. He dropped his gaze to the floor, ashamed that his desires were so obvious.

“I. . .I just want to help him.” He replied, weakly, “His family situation is bad.”

“Obviously, if they sent him away here.” Natalie agreed, “But do you really think keeping him out all day – just the two of you – is the remedy?”

“I think he needs someone he can trust.” Tom retorted, defensively, “Everyone who's ever known him has judged him, and hurt him. He doesn't need it from everyone here on the ranch too.”

Natalie arched an eyebrow at Tom's vehement reaction, “I understand where you're coming from. . .But you have to admit, Mr. Hoffman is right. The way it appears-”

“The way it appears to me is that Bill is alone in this world.” Tom jumped up from his chair, growing angry. Natalie was falling in line with all the rest when she was usually more open minded, “His stepfather abuses him, his mother sits by and watches, and he doesn't have any friends. His parents shipped him off here because they think he's a problem kid, when all he needs is for someone to listen to him and understand him. Why can't anybody see that?”

“Okay.” Natalie held up her hands, “I trust you, Tom, and I will vouch for you.”

“Vouch for me?”

“Yes.” Natalie leaned forward against the desk, “Because when the lid blows off of this whole things, I don't think Bill is the only one that's going to need a friend.”

Natalie was right, Tom realized. There was no happy ending to this. In a month, Bill would be gone, just another name on the roster history of Miranda Gulch Ranch, just another troubled child lost to the cruelties of the world. There was no room in his world for someone like Tom, no matter how good of friends they were on the ranch.

This realization only made Tom's decision to bar anything sexual from their relationship stronger. He didn't want to get so caught up in the affair, to grow so attached to Bill, perhaps love him, only to have the boy ripped away from him in a month's time.

Tom sank to his seat, cradling his head in his hands. For a moment, he wondered if it had been better if he and Bill had never met. Seconds later, he regretted that thought. If he could make Bill's life better, if only the fleeting moments they shared on this ranch, perhaps Bill would be happier for it.

“All right. We have some serious business to discuss now.” Natalie moved on, as if the conversation hadn't even happened, “Business about the ranch. The southern fields are looking a bit shoddy, and those colts still need to be shoed. I suggest you send some of the hands, maybe Randy and Tim to look after it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Tom nodded, eager to move past the argument.

“Mid-month, I think we're going to need to make a run to the city for some supplies. The horse show drained us a bit.”

“Of course.” Tom agreed, “I'll go myself.”

And the rest of the meeting went just like this, as if the discussion about Bill had never occurred. They went through the finances and the state of the ranch like they always did, partners of six years that had never doubted each other, not until now.

Tom was shocked by his own aggression towards Natalie. They had been friends for six years, had clicked from the start. She had been by his side during his first few months on the ranch, when the grief was the worst, the guilt at it's peak. She had helped him through the sorrow, and now he was doubting her. He had to wonder what that gorgeous, yet troubled boy had done to him to make him question the very foundation of his life.

Tom left the meeting more perplexed than when he had entered. He looked around the main house for Bill, but lunch had already disassembled. He wondered if he would even see Bill today since he had pretty much sent the boy packing. No private lessons today, no time with Bill, no temptation. . . The distance between them did not seem worth it.

Tom walked out to the colt barn and shoed the young horses himself, throwing all his frustration into the task. Randy, one of the hands, came in to ask if Tom wanted help, but Tom shook his head. He would rather be alone with his degrading, depressing thoughts. He also wondered if he hung around the barns long enough if he would see Bill.

It seemed that his luck was all run out in that department. He put in a good two hours at the colt barn without a single glimpse of Bill. At last, he trudged back to his cabin for a long shower that he hoped would ease some of his disappointment and guilt.

 

~

 

For the next couple of hours, Bill learned all there was to know about Nora. It turned out that she was practically royalty around Miranda – the niece of Natalie Franz. She was the daughter of Natalie's brother, a wealthy businessman that had helped Natalie found Miranda. She had grown up on an estate, but had always enjoyed the country and horseback riding. She visited Natalie often, staying at the ranch for as long as two months at a time. She went to private schooling in Helena, but had even completed a semester in a Swiss finishing school. Her vocabulary was impressive, her clothes expensive, and her perspective on life refreshing. She wasn't at all like what Bill had expected. He had met plenty of rich, prissy girls that were far too entitled and aloof for their real status in life. Nora wasn't at all like that.

As interesting as Nora's stories were, Bill found himself drawing more pleasure out of the fact that he was spending time with her rather than Tom, than actually enjoying Nora's company. He almost felt bad for using her. Almost.

Nora, a trained and skilled rider, saddled up two horses and they took a stroll across the prairie. She had just finished telling Bill a story about exploring the ranch when she was younger, when a thought occurred to Bill.

Trying to be casual, he asked, “So do you know everyone here?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged.

“Like the bosses and everybody?”

She arched an eyebrow and laughed, “You mean Tom, don't you?”

“Was I being that obvious?” Bill asked, dipping his head to hide the blush.

“Trust me, everyone that knows anyone around here knows who Tom Kaulitz is.” She finished with a dreamy sigh, “He's to die for, isn't he?”

“I. . .I wouldn't know.” Bill shrugged, uncomfortable.

“It's okay. If I were a guy, I would totally go gay for him.” She laughed, then poked Bill in the ribs to get him laughing too, “The man is _hot_!”

“Okay, someone has a crush.” Bill replied, sarcastically.

“Every girl does.” Nora shrugged, “He's been here ever since I can remember, so I'm kind of used to the swooning feeling in my chest.” Her smile faded, and she prodded, “So, why do you want to know about Tom?”

“I don't know. . .I think he was trying to befriend me or something.” Bill muttered, not really sure himself.

“He's a really nice guy.” Nora nodded in agreement, “The quiet, brooding types girls like me go for, you know. Inside he's a real teddy bear, though.”

They were quiet for a moment before Nora added, softly, “I think something bad happened to him, though.”

“What do you mean?” Bill asked, trying to contain his curiosity.

“I remember my aunt used to talk about him like. . .I don't know, like he was one of her special cases. I didn't really understand back then 'cause I was so little, but. . .”

“Special cases?” Bill frowned.

“Yeah. She started this ranch sort of like a vacation for hurting people. Her daughter, my cousin Angelica, died in a riding accident when she was ten. After that, Natalie needed something, so she started the ranch. Then my Uncle Dave died, and she just wanted to help people. . .I remember, she used to say, 'He has a beautiful soul, but it's been broken' or something sentimental like that.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Bill pressed.

“Something about his wife. . .I don't know. . .”

“Wife?” Bill squeaked.

Nora raised her eyebrows, “That surprises you. . .about someone so gorgeous?”

“No, I just. . .He didn't. . .”

“Tell you?” Nora finished, “Well, I would imagine it's a sensitive subject. . .I think she really did a number on him, kicked him out and made him feel worthless. A real bitch.”

“But why?” Bill asked, “Why would she do that?”

“That's a question you'll have to ask him because I don't think anyone but Natalie knows.”

Bill was already considering it. He could've stayed mad at Tom forever, but this conversation was making him realize he didn't know everything about Tom. . .In fact, he probably knew very little. Maybe Tom had a good reason for not wanting to have lessons today. Maybe he really was busy. . . And maybe that was just wishful thinking.

 

 


	8. Apologies and Promises

Day 5

 

Tom trudged to breakfast the next morning, feeling depressed and a little lonely. Typically, he looked forward to his days on the ranch, where he could work hard for a good living, surrounded by people that respected and loved him. Without Bill's friendship waking him up each morning with a smile, a bit of his love for life had slipped away. Not only did he miss Bill, but he also felt terrible for rejecting the young man the way he had.

After his lunch meeting with Natalie yesterday he hadn't gone back to the main house. He had gone through his daily routine outside, taken dinner in his cabin, and gone to bed, angry with himself but at a loss as what to do about his feelings for Bill. By this morning, however, he had known he had to talk to Bill. He had to make this right.

Tom found his place to Natalie's right at the table and sank low in the chair, a frown of deep thought on his brow. He continually glanced about the dining room, searching out Bill's face, only to come up empty until breakfast was just about to start. Tom felt a weight of dread fall to his stomach when he saw Bill enter, side by side with Natalie's niece, the pretty and outgoing Nora Riker. Bill was in his usual posture, hands in his pockets, head down, but Nora was talking and gesturing animatedly, obviously speaking to her somber companion. She motioned to her table and the two sat down.

“Shit.” Tom muttered under his breath, the self-loathing returning with force. Pushing Bill away for one day had resulted in a bigger loss than he had calculated.

Suddenly, Bill looked over his shoulder, his gaze locking on Tom's. A petulant expression crossed his face, as if to say, _Do something about it._ In the last three days, Tom had nearly forgotten about Bill's biting attitude, a mistake he probably should not have made.

Breakfast began with the cooks rolling out giant platters of hot rolls and steaming bowls of scrambled eggs, but Tom didn't feel hungry. He pushed his food around his plate and picked at his eggs until, at long last, the meal ended. Natalie stood up to bid everyone a good day, leaving the guests to file out to whatever activity they had chosen for the day. Tom was the first out of his seat, weaving his way through the tables until he reached Bill's side.

“Hey, what about those lessons today?” He asked, hopefully.

Bill looked up at him, as if bothered by his presence, “I thought you were too busy.”

“I'm free today.” Tom replied, weakly. He felt like a complete ass, but he had to get Bill alone.

“Nora was going to show me down to the orchard.” Bill said, with a sigh.

Nora glanced between the two of them, hesitation and discomfort written on her pretty face.

“Please.” Tom lowered his voice, “Can we at least talk?”

“Ok, fine.” Bill shrugged, “When?”

“As soon as possible.”

Bill shoved his chair back from the table, coming eye to eye with Tom, “Okay. Meet me in Prissy's barn. Ten minutes. Don't be late.”

He brushed past Tom and marched out of the mess hall, his chin for once leaving his chest. Tom watched him go, his teeth gritted. If he hadn't been so desperate to talk to Bill, he would've taken the boy over his knee for speaking to an adult so rudely.

Tom glanced at his watch, realizing it was about time for the second rotation of mares to go out into the field for grazing. He quickly flagged down Randy and put in a quick request for the other hand to take care of the mares. He wasn't missing this meeting for anything.

He made it out the horse barn a few minutes early and nearly ran down the aisle to Prissy's stall. He pulled to a stop when he found the gate open and Bill inside, petting Prissy's nose and side. He turned around slowly when he heard Tom approach. Folding his arms over his thin chest, he raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I'm just going to lay this out from the start -” Tom began, his heart beating a frantic rhythm, “I was an ass.”

Bill pursed his lips and nodded.

“And I shouldn't have been rude about the lessons yesterday. . .and I'm sorry.”

Bill sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides, “So, what happened?”

Tom pressed his fingertips against his eyelids for a moment before putting his hands up, “You know, Bill. . .”

Bill blinked rapidly, then shrugged, “No, I don't.”

“The other day. . .we, uh. . .” Tom struggled to find the appropriate words, “In my cabin, after you fell. . .” His voice came out hoarse as he recalled the encounter.

Bill's cheeks flushed a bit and he stared at his boots, “I thought that's what you wanted.”

“It is. . .But it's not. . .” Tom groaned, “It's more complicated than that.”

“So explain it to me!” Bill cried, lifting wide, dark eyes to Tom's, “Because so far I can't understand why you would reject me and betray me like that.”

Tom bit his lower lip, a shaft of pain going through his heart. He had made Bill feel worse than he had imagined.

“Bill, I'm sorry.” Tom approached Bill, reaching out a gentle hands, “I didn't mean to do that. . .I just wanted a second to clear my head, and. . .”

Bill stiffened when Tom laid his hands on his shoulders, but he didn't pull away.

“So. . .you don't . . .want me?” He whispered.

Tom closed his eyes for a second, opened them to Bill's dismayed expression, “I've seen what your family is like, how they treat you-”

“What does my family have to do with it?”

“Will you please let me finish?” Tom demanded.

Bill closed his mouth and dipped his chin, “Sorry.”

“I remember being a scared, hurting fifteen year old kid, not having his father anymore. It was a vulnerable time, but at least I had people who helped me and loved me through it. . .From what I've seen you, don't really have that. . .and I just don't want to take advantage of that. I don't want to use your vulnerability to get myself. . .laid.” He finished quietly, embarrassed to even speak that desire in front of Bill.

Bill's cheeks flushed darker, “I guess I kind of understand.”

“I wasn't trying to reject or betray you.” Tom added, “I was trying not to hurt you.”

Bill shifted from one boot to the other, his eyes watering heavily, “God, do I feel like shit now.”

“No, no, no.” Tom shook his head, “Don't. . .I should've told you that instead of being a jerk.”

Bill nodded, his lips quivering. Tears shone on his long dark lashes, “It's just. . .no one has ever. . .done something like that for me before.”

Tom pulled Bill to his chest, wrapping his strong arms around slender, shaking shoulders, “Oh, Bill. . .”

Bill's fingers curled around Tom's shirt, and he stayed huddled against Tom's chest for a few minutes before leaning back to wipe his eyes, “I feel like all I do is cry about my problems to you.”

“Don't worry about it.” Tom reached up to dash away a stray tear making it's way down Bill's cheek before he could reconsider the action, “I'm willing to listen. _More_ than willing.”

Bill smiled weakly, and disentangled himself from Tom's arms, “Can we like go riding now or something?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Tom nodded, eagerly.

He stood back and watched proudly as Bill bridled and saddled Prissy all by himself.

“You're getting pretty good at that.” He smiled.

Bill tossed a coy smile over his shoulder at Tom, “I have a good teacher.”

“You mean, Nora didn't teach you any of that?”

Bill paused for a second, his shoulders stiffening, “She didn't really teach me anything. . .But we did have a few interesting conversations.”

“Yeah?” Tom asked, trying not to be nosy, but seriously curious as to what the two young people's relationship was. . .or had been.

Bill finished the last cinch of Prissy's saddle and turned slowly. His eyes were downcast, guilty.

“What?” Tom asked, more determined this time.

“She said something to me about you. . .”

Tom felt his gut twist, but he tried to keep a straight face, “Nothing bad, I hope.”

“No, mostly good. . .” Bill bit his lower lip, his feet shuffling anxiously in the hay, “It's really none of my business. . .Never mind.”

“No, I said you can talk to me.” Tom insisted.

What had Nora told Bill? How much did the boy know? Tom had to know, had to make sure Bill stayed in the dark. Bill was the only thing not touched by that. . .that travesty. The only thing in Tom's life that was good and pure, not marked by the mistakes of his past.

“She told me. . .” Bill sighed, “I'm really not trying to be nosy little bitch.”

“I know.”

“She said. . .you had a wife.” Bill managed at last, his eyes instantly dropping to the dirty floor of the stall.

Tom's heart slowed a little, but he could still feel the sweat on his brow, “That's all she said.”

“She said that she. ..your wife. . .was a bitch.”

Tom nodded, slowly, “Well, I guess you could look at it that way.”

“I'm sorry.” Bill whispered, “I didn't mean to bring up something. . .painful.”

“No, it's okay.” Tom let out a sigh of relief. He gave a forced chuckle and added, “Didn't seem like the marrying type, did I?”

“I guess. . .I didn't really think about it before.” Bill shrugged, a little frown crossing his brow, “You were here with me on the ranch. . .and I thought that was all that mattered.”

“To be honest, that's how I would prefer it.” Tom admitted, “That's what I _want_ to matter.”

Bill broke out into a smile, “Okay.”

He held out his hand and Tom took it.

Bill winked at him, “Bro's before ho's right?”

Tom nodded, grinning in relief, “Right.”

 

~

 

Bill was eager to forgive Tom, especially after the touching explanation he gave. He hadn't really wanted to be angry at Tom in the first place, but he had thought he had no choice. After all the rejection in his life, he should've been used it, maybe even expected it. . .but Tom's betrayal had stung worse than anything he'd felt in years. The rancher was special, a warm, guiding light, a gentle hand, a tender _kiss._ Bill had been done for from day one; life would never be the same after Tom.

Bill was silently regarding his rancher with wondering eyes as they rode out across the prairie, in the direction of the orchards. Nora's comment about Tom's wife had made Bill extremely curious, but now he was almost dying to know what had happened. Tom's reaction to Bill's questions hadn't been one of anger, regret, or even pain. . .It had been of fear. Bill knew the face of someone who carried a deep, dark secret – he stared it down in the mirror every morning. And Tom was most certainly hiding something.

Bill didn't want to push, but he also wanted to know. What could be so horrible about a failed marriage? It happened all the time. . .Of course, the possibilities were endless. If Bill let his imagination go wild, he could think of a dozen terrible things Tom, or his wife, could've done to end the relationship. Bill didn't really want to go there because he preferred to keep Tom flawless to his eyes.

“So what's exciting about the orchard?” Tom asked, tearing Bill from his thoughts.

“What?”

“You said Nora was going to show you the orchard.”

“Oh, it was her idea.” Bill shrugged, “But I'd rather go with you.”

“You don't really like her, do you?” Tom asked, skeptically.

Bill shrugged, “She's ok. Not really my type.”

“Don't let her hear you say that.” Tom shook his head, “She's a little spoiled.”

“Some people could say the same thing about me.” Bill replied.

“But you aren't, are you?”

“I mean, I get three meals a day, all the clothes I want, my Xbox.” Bill cocked on shoulder, “To some people, that would mean spoiled.”

“I don't think so.” Tom said, “I think people just don't listen to what you have to say.”

“You can say it.” Bill waved a hand, absently, “ _Misunderstood_.”

“No, that wasn't exactly-”

“It's what my mom says.” Bill scowled, “But she never _tries_ to understand.”

“And Gordon. . .”

“ _Gordon._ ” Bill scoffed, “All he cares about is the new hotel he's putting up in New York, or the twenty acres of forest he cleared last week for an amusement park. He cares about the money in his pocket, and nothing else. Especially not the bastard son, of a desperate, penniless whore.”

Tom grew quiet and Bill wondered if he had said too much. The emotion had risen so suddenly, he hadn't been able to contain the angry words. Hardly ever did he admit those kinds of feelings to anyone. Back home, he knew the words would eventually get back to Gordon's ears.

“I'm sorry.” Tom said, at last, “That's no childhood.”

“I don't want you to feel sorry for me.” Bill pulled Prissy to a stop. The aimless riding was too akin to the wandering of his heart, “I want someone to get angry.” He added, through gritted teeth, “For once, can't someone get angry for me? Not him?”

Tom glanced over at him with a soft, brown eyes, with compassion that made Bill wonder if Tom were even capable of the rage Bill had experienced so often. But suddenly, Tom jumped down from his horse and he turned to swing Bill down to the ground with him. For a moment, Bill was airborne, and the next, he was up against Tom's chest, a pair of strong hands splayed across his back.

“I will.” Tom uttered in a low whisper, “I'll get pissed as hell for you. I'll start swinging at anyone that tries to hurt you.” His fingertips grazed Bill's cheek with efficiency that made shivers ripple down Bill's spine, “Just tell me where to aim.”

Bill was speechless for a second, amazed. . . _turned on_ by the passion with which Tom spoke.

When Bill didn't reply, Tom frowned, “I'm not kidding, Bill.”

“I know.” Bill rasped, his lips and throat suddenly desert dry.

“Good.” Tom gave him a gentle squeeze, “That's all I meant to do. . .Be your friend, help you. . .”

“Why?” Bill asked, suddenly.

He clearly recalled their first acquaintance. He had been very rude to Tom, hadn't shook his hand, and stomped away. But Tom had come after him, tried to be nice to someone who probably needed a lesson in manners, not a pat on the back.

“What do you mean?” Tom looked confused.

“Why would you want to help someone like me?” Bill asked, “I was _so_ rude to you the first day we met. Why did you come after me?”

Tom shook his head, “For the life of me, Bill, I don't know. I was pretty pissed off at you for acting like that around adults. . .but, um, I guess something about you drew me in.”

Bill felt himself blush. Tom paid him too many compliments for it to be legal. He'd like to say he wasn't comfortable with so much attention, but to be perfectly honest, it was nice to have someone saying those things to him instead of someone else, for once.

“I'm glad.” Bill murmured.

“Me too.” Tom gave Bill's shoulders a squeeze and then nodded his head, “The orchard is just over that hill. They have some pretty delicious peaches this time of year.”

“Okay, let's go.” Bill agreed.

They walked the rest of the way to the orchard, leading the horses behind them. As they came over the hill, an acre of trees, planted in perfect rows, each laden with fruit, spread out before them. Bill had never thought eating fruit would look so good.

They tied their mounts at the fence surrounding the orchard and Tom led them to the section of peach trees. Plucking one down, he pulled out a pocket knife and sheared away thick, juicy piece for Bill to try. Bill popped the fruit in his mouth and felt his lips pucker and his eyes water. The fruit was impossibly sweet, and so filled with tangy juice, it felt as if his mouth would explode with the flavor. He quickly chewed and swallowed it, nodding gratefully, “Mmm, wow. . .That's really good.”

“Here, let's sit down and we'll finish it off.” Tom motioned to the grass.

They settled down into the soft, springy grass and Tom sliced off two pieces. He put one his mouth and held the other out to Bill. Bill leaned forward and opened his mouth, waiting for Tom to get the hint.

Tom frowned, “Come on, Bill. Take it.”

“No, that's not any fun.” Bill shook his head, “Come on!”

He opened his mouth again, and Tom gave in with a sigh. He placed the slice of peach on Bill's tongue, and plucked his hand back before Bill's lips could close around his fingers.

Bill smiled and munched on the fruit, “Thank you, Tomi.”

A small frown flickered across Tom's brow at the arbitrary use of the nickname, but Bill ignored the hesitancy. He cared about Tom more than he probably should since he would be leaving in a month. He just wanted to enjoy having someone this close, being this much of friend, even if it only was for a short time.

Bill laid back on the grass and crossed his arms behind his head. The sky above him was cloudless and deep blue. A soft breeze rattled through the millions of leaves overhead, like the sound of a windchime. It was calming, peaceful. . .but only because Tom was there with him.

“Tom.” He reached out, his hand patting through the grass to find Tom's hand.

“Yeah?”

“Do you promise not to piss me off anymore this month?”

Tom chuckled, quietly, “Sure.”

“Good. Because I promise not to get mad at you.” Bill said, smiling up at Tom, “I don't want to spend anymore of my time here mad and upset. . .I didn't choose this vacation, but it's turned out way better than I thought. And I don't want it to be anything like back home.”

“Okay.” Tom nodded, giving Bill's hand a squeeze, “I'll try.”

Bill slowly sat up, his eyes focusing in on Tom's mouth. It was damp with peach juice, the lower lip perfectly full and shaped. Bill remembered the sweet taste of it, the rush of adrenaline, Tom's hands touching him. . .

Their mouths barely touched when Tom pulled back, protesting, “Bill. ..Bill, stop. Remember what I said?”

Bill drew back, disappointed by the quick deflection, “I'm sorry. ..I just thought. . .”

“No.” Tom jumped up from the grass. He paced away, pulling his hat off to run his fingers through his hair, “What was I thinking. .?” He muttered under his breath.

Bill stood up, slowly, dusting his pants off. Tom paced back to him and grabbed Bill by the shoulders, “You listen to me. . .I am not here for sex, or getting off, or whatever people usually expect out of you. I just want to be your friend!”

Bill glared at the grass, not meeting Tom's blazing eyes, “I'm not a whore.”

Tom sighed, his fingers loosening their grip on Bill's arms, “I know. ..I'm sorry. That's not what I meant.”

“But. . .I thought it's what you wanted. . .I know it's what I wanted.” Bill replied, softly.

Tom drew in a deep breath. He placed a hand on Bill's shoulder, softly squeezed the back of his neck, “Even if it were. . .we've only known each other for a few days.”

“It feels longer than that.” Bill murmured.

“I know. . .but I don't want to rush things. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

“Okay,” Bill shrugged, irritated that each and every attempt he made at intimacy with Tom was met with a resounding 'no.' Ever since the night of the conference, when they had touched, kissed. . .It was the reality check that kept Tom from letting Bill go on.

“You said you wouldn't be mad at me.” Tom reminded him, gently.

“And you said you wouldn't piss me off.” Bill retorted.

“Okay, let's keep it that way.”

“I think we should just go back to the main house.” Bill said, pulled out of Tom's grasp and striding towards Prissy and Tony.

“I'm sorry, but you can't have everything your way.” Tom said, resolutely, following after Bill.

“If it were my way, I would.” Bill said as he mounted his horse.

Tom chuckled at the redundancy of that statement, and Bill let himself join in. Maybe Tom wouldn't let him close today, or tomorrow, or next week, but Bill had a whole month to find Tom's breaking point. . .And eventually, the handsome, charming rancher wouldn't be able to stand the heat.

 

~

 

An arts and crafts session was going on at the main house when Bill and Tom got back from the orchard. Bill thought the idea of arts and crafts was stupid, but Tom told Bill to amuse himself while he went to check in with his second-in-command, Randy.

Bill plopped down at the table that was mostly deserted and looked down at the blank sheet of paper before him. He could hear the game leader telling the rest of the participants to make a picture of the ranch. Bill didn't think he was a very good artist, had never really tried that hard to draw something worth looking at.

There was pencils and paint brushes in front of him. He picked up the pencil and began to sketch. He was focused on his drawing and didn't hear Nora when she approached him.

“Hey, you,” She nudged his shoulder, “Where'd you disappear to?”

Bill looked up, startled, and flipped his paper over to hide his untalented doodling, “I. ..uh. . .I was with Tom.”

She frowned, “I thought you were like mad at him or something.”

“I was. But we worked it out.” Bill replied, evasively.

“Can I sit here?” She asked, motioning to the chair next to him.

“Sure. It's a free country.”

She sat down and crossed her legs, letting one swing back and forth anxiously. At last, he leaned forward, “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Did I misconstrue something?” She asked, “I thought we were like. . .I don't know, sort of friends.”

Bill shrugged, “I guess.”

“Do you not like me? Because I can leave.” Nora began, her cheeks flushed.

 _Great._ Bill thought, _Now she's upset._

“I like you just fine.” He said, glancing around the room to see if anyone saw him getting the boss's niece riled up.

“Then what's wrong?”

“I just. . .I made up with Tom, but I still have some thinking to do.” Bill shrugged, “It's complicated.”

“Okay, so it has nothing to do with me?”

Bill shook his head.

“Good.” She sighed, “I really enjoyed your company.”

Bill nodded.

“They're playing volleyball out in the back pasture later.” Nora said, “You should come.”

“I'm not good at sports.”

“It's not for points or anything.” She laughed, “It's just for fun.”

“Okay.” Bill said, eager to get her off his back.

“All right. I'll see you later.” She patted his back and walked off, placated once more.

Bill watched her go and then turned his paper back over. It was then that he decided the picture was crap; he really was a terrible artist. Bill jumped up from the table and crumpled the scribbling of a long-haired rancher and a tall, black horse into a tight ball. Throwing the picture away, he decided to go look for Tom. If Tom came with him, maybe he really would go play volleyball.

 


	9. In Lust For You

Day 6

 

A new, glorious day dawned on the ranch, waking Tom with a smile. He had Bill back, and that was a reason to be happy. After breakfast and his first round of daily chores, Tom saddled Tony and rode out to the guest cabins.

It was Monday again, which meant the old residents were leaving, and a whole new batch of guests were coming in. Typically, Mondays were party days on Miranda because they liked to give the guests a warm welcome. Bill hadn't gotten a party day since he had arrived on a Wednesday; Tom intended to include Bill in this Monday's festivities.

As Tom approached Bill and Peter's cabin, he caught glimpse of the slender, pale-skinned figure sitting on the front porch, wearing only a pair of jeans and hair still wet from the shower. Bill was leisurely smoking a cigarette and gazing out at the rolling landscape, so oblivious to Tom's approach that Tom could only admit that while his seduction was at rest, his appeal was still very vital.

Tom drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He told himself to be strong, not to look too long, or to desire something he couldn't have too strongly. But remembering the last time he had come upon Bill half-dressed turned his insides to hot liquid.

“Hey, Bill.” He called out as Tony ambled up to the cabin.

Bill looked up with a smile, “Hey.”

Tom swung down from the saddle and threw Tony's halter loosely around the railing of the porch, “Do you know what day it is?”

Bill frowned and his nose crinkled in confusion, “Uh. . .I don't know.”

“Monday.” Tom supplied with a grin, “Party day.”

Bill's interest seemed thoroughly peaked. He gave Tom a curious gaze and asked, “And why is that?”

“Last weeks guests are leaving and new ones are coming in. We like to give them a big welcome. There's gonna be barbeque, lots of games, a barn dance. . .It's loads of fun.”

“A dance?” Bill asked, trying to remain modest with his curiosity.

Tom nodded and elbowed Bill, “Lot's of pretty girls.”

Bill scowled, “It sounds fun, Tom, but to be honest, that's what I'm afraid of.”

“Girls? How come?”

“Not girls.” Bill rolled his eyes, “One in particular.”

“Ooohh.” Tom nodded, “You're talking about Nora, aren't you.”

Bill shrugged and lowered his head, “I guess I went too far trying to piss you off.”

“What?” Tom frowned.

“The whole thing with Nora. . .” Bill sheepishly looked up at Tom through thick lashes, “I was just trying to push your buttons because I was mad at you.”

“Huh. . .” Tom smiled and shook his head, more amused by the confession than angered, “From experience, she probably wasn't the best girl to choose in your plot for revenge.”

“She seemed harmless at first.” Bill exclaimed, throwing his hands out, “Now she wants to be all over me and hang out all the time and. . .ugh. . .It's like eating too much candy. I could throw up.”

Tom chuckled at Bill's predicament, “Well, look at it this way. In a month, you won't have to see her face again.”

Their eyes met and Tom's smile faded.

Bill swallowed hard and took a quick drag from the cigarette. He blew out a smokey breath and murmured, “Or yours. . .”

“Come on, we can still call and text. . .” Tom suggested.

The idea sounded lame, even to Tom's ears. He couldn't imagine living the rest of his life without seeing Bill's face every day, or enjoying his company every single hour. He didn't know how it was possible, but he had grown closer to this boy in six days than he had with anyone else in six years. The idea of letting go was painful, almost as painful as the thought of going back home.

“That's what old people or cousins do.” Bill said, forcefully tapping out ashes on the ground, “Not friends. . .Not people. . .like us.”

“I know.” Tom put his arm around Bill's bare shoulders and pulled Bill to his side, “We'll find a way.”

“Really?” Bill looked up at him, hopefully.

“Yeah.” Tom nodded, running his fingertips up and down Bill's smooth arm, “You don't know how long it's been since I actually cared – _let_ myself care about someone else this much.”

Bill cuddled closer to him, “I feel the same way.”

Tom almost choked on the desire swelling up through his chest. Bill's skin was like silk beneath his palm, his breath warm against Tom's neck. He smelled fresh and delicious from the shower, while the tinge of cigarette smoke on his breath gave him a sense of mature decadence that made him not seem so vulnerable and young, the need to steal his purity not such a crime. Holding Bill this close filled him with a possessiveness he hadn't felt in years, made him want to take more and seal the bond.

“We should go.” Tom ground out, extricating himself from Bill's grasp, “The guests will be arriving soon.”

Bill snuffed his cigarette out on the ground and tossed it away. Rising from the steps, he leaned back and stretched. The muscles low in his stomach went taut, showing off a light dusting of hair and the jutting points of his hipbones. The top of his star tattoo rose above the waistband of his boxers, giving Tom the sudden urge to the rip cloth away and reveal all five points, run his tongue over the sharp, dark lines. . .

Tom tore his eyes away and grappled with Tony's halter, struggling to loose it from the porch railing. He drew in a calming breath when Bill said he would go inside and get dressed. He heard the screen door slam behind Bill, and slowly turned around to lean against the railing. He was horrified to find an almost full erection trapped beneath his jeans, forming a very obvious lump that Bill or anyone else couldn't miss.

 _You fool._ He berated himself, trying to adjust the lump to make it less noticeable, _What are you going to do when you can't take it anymore? He's just a kid. I can't take that from him._

Tom had morals that ran deep, morals his mother, and even his father, had taught him. He knew about right and wrong, and to him, it was just wrong to take Bill's youth away from him. Eventually, Bill would grow up and find the right person for him, the person he might marry. There was no future for Bill if he went with Tom, and Tom did not want that for Bill.

By the time Bill returned, Tom had managed to get his urges under control. With Bill fully clothed, there was less of a chance of spontaneous erections. Or at least he hoped.

Bill approached, dressed in bell-bottom jeans, and a t-shirt with the four, painted faces of the KISS members arranged in a square on the front. His hair had been blow-dryed and teased, his lips glossed to a sinful, sparkly red color. As he came closer, Tom noticed the effects of mascara on his lashes, and a hint of eyeliner. Tom had definitely noticed Bill's use of make up before, but he had never applied this much – at least not around Tom.

“You look. . .” Tom searched for the right word. He didn't want to say 'pretty' or 'beautiful' because that was for girls; _gorgeous_ was more appropriate. Instead, he finished weakly with, “Good.”

“Thanks.” Bill smiled, flushing.

“Doesn't anyone back home tell you that?” Tom asked, putting his arm around Bill's shoulders as they headed toward the front gate. He led Tony behind him, recalling the discomfort of the last time they had shared a mount.

Bill shrugged, “Sometimes, I guess.”

“They should more often.” Tom replied, “You're a good-looking kid, Bill.”

Bill blushed deeper and dipped his head, “Thank you. . .But not like you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, don't girls like this whole rugged cowboy routine you do out here?” Bill asked with a wry smile.

“I guess so.” Tom shrugged, “That's not really why I came out here.”

“I know, but it's true, isn't it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And you have a real tan, not like the fake ones people get back home.”

“And the tan lines to go with it. Remember that part.” Tom laughed.

“Okay, but you get my point.”

“I suppose. I think more girls would like you if you opened up more in public.” Tom said, “Grunting and one-word answers doesn't really interest them. They like to _talk._ Trust me, I know.”

“Okay, but whatever.” Bill shrugged, “I didn't come here to find a girlfriend.”

“Then why did you?” The question popped out of Tom's mouth before he could stop it. He knew he shouldn't push Bill about his reasons for being sent here, but he _was_ curious.

“My mom and Gordon picked this place out.” Bill shrugged, “They thought it was far enough away from society.”

“Far enough for what?”

“For me to not get in trouble.” Bill muttered.

“I can't believe you're that much of a troublemaker.” Tom scoffed.

Bill looked up at him skeptically, “Tom, you don't really know the me from L.A. I party with my friends, I drink, smoke. . .I get fucked up.”

Tom hesitated to answer that, distressed by what Bill had just revealed. He was only seventeen, so young. . .

“And mostly, I do it to piss them off.” Bill added, “And the more pissed off they get, the angrier they make me, and the more I do to piss them off. . .and you see how it could snowball.”

“I do.” Tom nodded, slowly, “But. . .why? I mean, these things start somewhere, don't they?”

Bill shrugged, “They chalk it up to teenage rebellion. Maybe they're right.”

Tom looked up to find that they were almost to the front gate, where a van had appeared on the horizon. Here, he thought, was probably the place where he should let the conversation go. Bill obviously wasn't comfortable with discussing his reasons for rebelling, and Tom wasn't sure he wanted to process anymore about the Bill from L.A. He liked the Bill he had tucked under his arm – the sweet, quiet boy that was sometimes vulnerable, sometimes strong-willed. . .sometimes seductive.

They leaned against the fence with everyone else, just as Tom had done upon Bill's arrival. He noticed Natalie standing nearby, but she didn't approach this time. He had an inkling she was still upset with him about how much time he was spending with Bill, but at this point, he didn't care. Bill was important to him, and she should understand that.

“So, are we just gonna stand out here all afternoon, waiting for everyone to get here?” Bill asked, quickly growing bored with the activity.

“No. We welcome the guests that arrive and help them get settled into their cabins.” Tom replied.

Bill gave a snort, “That's lame. Let's go do something else, Tom.”

“Like what?”

“It's pretty hot today. Let's go swimming.” Bill suggested, brightly.

“No, I don't. . .” Tom began, shaking his head.

“Come on.” Bill tugged on his arm, “You're being a boring adult. Let's go jump in the waterfall!”

“Remember my status here on the ranch?” Tom asked, “VP. I have to be around to kick off the new week.”

Bill let go of his arm and propped his chin on his arms, crossed over the top of the fence. He began to pout, a sight which only made Tom chuckle. It was so childish, and the fact that Bill actually thought it would work on Tom was rather amusing.

“What?” Bill demanded, his brows furling.

“You're just. . .you're too cute when you do that.” Tom laughed.

Bill's frown deepened, “ _Cute?_ ” He sounded offended by the adjective.

“Yes, well. . .” Tom swallowed back his smile. He cleared his throat and turned his gaze out to the approaching vehicle.

“You think I'm cute?” Bill repeated, this time sounding more disbelieving than offended.

“Well, your pouting is. . .” Tom mumbled, scuffing one boot through the dirt.

“Oh, I see.” Bill said, understanding, “I see how it is, Tom.”

“Do you?”

“M-hmm. You really do think I'm cute, but you have to find a more innocent way of saying it.”

Tom glanced over at Bill to find Bill gazing up at him with big eyes, and his full, lower lip trapped between his teeth. Tom quickly looked away, silently swearing violently. Bill _was_ cute, but that wasn't the problem. He was beautiful and sexy and _hot. . ._ so fucking hot – that was the point where Tom got hot and bothered; that was the problem.

Bill let the question drop as the gates swung open and the van rolled onto the ranch. His brow arched when they all read the words printed on the side of the van: Victory Baptist Church.

“A church group?” Bill asked, and almost burst out laughing.

“We. . .uh. . .we get all types.” Tom replied, still reeling from Bill's very direct question.

“Yeah. Right.” Bill grabbed his arm, “I'm not sticking around for this.”

“What's so bad about a church group?” Tom asked as Bill dragged him away from the fence.

“What? Besides Bible-thumping and jean jumpers?”

“Bill, come on. That's stereotyping, isn't it?”

“At it's best.” Bill agreed, not at all ashamed.

“I told you. I have to stay.” Tom argued, prying Bill's hand from his arm, “If you don't wanna help with the church group, you can go do another activity or go back to your cabin. We'll meet up later.”

“For the barn dance?” Bill asked, excited by the prospect.

“Yes. It's after the barbeque.”

“Okay.” Bill shrugged, “I guess I'll see you at lunch. ..and then the dance.”

“Right.” Tom nodded.

He watched as Bill turned and headed back toward the cabin, his hands in his pockets, his head down. After all he had heard about Bill's life and family, he could only guess what had made the boy so hardened to God and religion. Maybe he didn't want to know. . .

 

~

 

When Bill got back to the cabin, he found Peter putting his shoes and jacket on.

“There you are.” Peter said, “Where'd you go off to?”

“Tom wanted me to help greet the new guests.” Bill shrugged, “But it's boring.”

“Have you seen Nora?” Peter asked, almost sounding hopeful.

Bill shook his head.

“I ran into her breakfast. She was asking about you.”

“I know.” Bill sighed, “Where are you going?”

“Oh they're having fly-fishing lessons out at the river.” Peter replied, “I'm gonna check it out before lunch.”

“You know they're having a dance tonight.”

Peter raised his brows, “Are you planning on going?”

“Yeah. It could be fun.”

“Good.” Peter smiled, “I'm glad to see you're starting to enjoy yourself.”

“And socializing, right?” Bill added, “You can report that to Gordon.”

“I will.” Peter narrowed his eyes, “And you'd do best to not ruin my good report.”

Peter turned to walk out the door and Bill flicked him off, his irritation with the man still abundant despite two days free of fighting with him. The door shut behind Peter and Bill wandered into his room. He found his ipod and his earbuds and lounged on the bed, listening to music, but he couldn't concentrate on the songs. He skipped through a dozen songs, not finding one he really wanted to listen to in it's entirety before pulling the earbuds out. He gave groan of frustration, brought on by Tom's constant rejection of his attempts. Bill had never been denied something he wanted so badly; he hated to admit it, but his mom usually supplied everything he wanted, even it if it was just to keep him happy. This was something she could never put within his grasp. He would have to fight for it all on his own.

Tom had intrigued him from the very beginning, but now he was more than curious. He wanted Tom with every fiber of his being; every inch of flesh screamed for his touch, and more specifically, _down there_ ached for Tom's rough, but practiced hands. It was like an itch that planted itself right in the middle of his back, right where he couldn't reach. It was infuriating, but exhilarating. With each passing day, Bill grew more needy, more hungry, magnifying each desire.

Recalling the way Tom had held him and touched him that morning when they sat on the porch, Bill was brought from being slightly turned on, to completely throbbing and aching for release. Without a second thought, he threw his pants off and palmed his thick, hard cock. The blood pulsed strongly through the veins, filling him to the breaking point. Even his balls hurt from the pent up desire, though he had already jacked off this morning in the shower. It was becoming a routine, cumming just for Tom each morning and each night; now, it seemed, he needed a mid-day release as well.

His hand worked quickly over his cock, his thumb stroking away at the head, arousing himself effortlessly. The cum was already starting to gather at the tip, and his muscles were tensed, waiting for the climax. He threw his head back, giving a low moan while the pleasure swelled.

“Yes, yes. . .” He whispered, keeping his eyes firmly shut in concentration.

He slowed his thrusts and stopped for only a moment to pull his shirt off so that he would not get cum all over KISS's faces. Completely naked now, he threw himself back across the sheets and resumed jacking himself. With his free hand, he began to rub at his nipples, urging the sensitive flesh to turn to hard, throbbing points. He imagined they were Tom's fingers, pinching him, teasing him; he imagined the bite of his long nails were Tom's teeth, grazing just enough to make him squirm.

Desperately thrusting against his hand, Bill groaned louder. He ground out Tom's name, and managed a pathetic, “Please. . .” at the end.

His eyes flew open when the fantasy exploded to a whole new level. In his head, he heard Tom's low, sexy voice whispering to him, “Finger yourself.”

It was the most erotic, dirty act he had ever been compelled to do to himself. Most people were happy with jacking off, but not Bill. . .Not Tom.

Bill quickly pulled his leg up against his chest and slid his fingers down the back of his thigh. He moaned quietly as his nails grazed the slope of his buttock, barely into the cleft. His whole body tensed and he had to physically force himself to relax. The fantasy was still unfolding itself in his head as his fingers dipped lower, brushing up against his tight hole. He could see Tom above him, his muscular, tanned body completely naked and aroused. He was watched Bill with intense, dark eyes, making sure he did it right. He was right there, urging Bill on, saying such naughty things. Bill imagined, if he didn't finger himself, he was going to be _punished._

His finger poked at his hole, pushing inside just a little. It was so tight. . .

Bill pulled his hand back, breathing hard. Without thinking, he brought his finger to his mouth and sucked on it. He quickly returned his wet finger to his ass, this time sliding the digit in more easily. It felt so strange, but wonderful and exciting at the same time. His stomach rolled through a dozen flips before settling into the same throbbing rhythm at before. He began to pump his finger in and out of himself while jacking his cock with his other hand.

The sensations combined to create almost unbearable pleasure. Bill began to writhe against the bed, pushing forward into his palm, then pulling back onto his finger. It felt so good, and Tom was _praising_ him, petting him, pushing him onward. He promised it would be good, and Bill more than believed him.

He pushed a second finger in and thrust his hand harder, penetrating himself so deep, he could almost touch that spot. . .that place where pleasure would be instantaneous. Rubbing hard at his cock and straining his other arm, he reached for the pleasure like he never had before.

It exploded upon him suddenly. His whole body clenched and went stiff, while the orgasm sent off shudders deep inside him. The pleasure was unlike anything he had experienced. Wave after wave of pleasure hit him, only to be followed by an even stronger surge. His body rose up from the bed, thrusting and jerking wildly. His fingers slipped from his hole, but his hand remained firm on his cock, squeezing and tugging until he felt hot cum pour over his fingers and rain down on his stomach. He came and came, moaning, writhing, almost sobbing Tom's name. It was so unbearable – the pleasure touched each nerve-ending, filled each part of his body until it was full and overflowing, scratching away at his sensitive flesh almost like torture. He felt raw inside by the time he collapsed back to the bed. So raw and used, and so very sensitive.

Bill opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling, completely dazed. The fantasy was complete and over with, but he could still recall how vivid it had been. Tom had been _right there!_

He lay on the bed, catching his breath for several minutes while the cum dried on his hand and stomach. His body thrummed softly with the aftershocks, completely drained. He didn't want to get up, return to the reality where Tom was rejecting him, not fucking him. It had to become real at some point, or Bill was going to go crazy with lust.

 


	10. Crossroads

The thick, mouth-watering scent of the barbecue still hung in the air as the party began to move from the big tent set up over to the grills to the barn that had been cleared out for the dance. This week's group of residents was a large one, including two families, the church group, an older couple, and a quartet of young people – two girls and two boys. The latter group was obviously from a rich neighborhood, sent to the ranch for vacation while their parents went to Paris or casinos. Tom didn't expect much trouble from them, but they were a bit too entitled for their own good.

Earlier that day, Tom had begun to wonder when Bill didn't return to the main house for brunch. When the smoke signals sent up from the grills began to form a cloud over the ranch, Bill finally turned up. He was still wearing his outfit from earlier, but he had added a pair of flashy, studded suspenders and had styled his hair into a spiky, flared fashion. His makeup was thicker, like the shadows creeping in from the night, his eyes sparkling whiskey brown against the black liner. His full lips were red, like the plush petals of a rose, plump and waiting to be plucked.

Upon Bill's arrival, Tom fought to urge to take the youthful, yet so desirable body into his arms and lavish kisses on his beckoning lips. Something so fine needed special treatment and pampering, everything his body and heart desired.

Instead, Tom found a table for them to sit at and they downed their ribs and soda in a far corner of the tent where no one disturbed them. Bill made a snide comment about Peter learning to fly-fish, but otherwise did not mention his nanny. Tom hoped that meant the old man would not bother them for the rest of the night. He was fond of Monday dance nights, but this one was even more special. Deep down, he knew this was where he decided what their relationship would be. He couldn't keep deflecting Bill's questions and lustful gazes.

As they were headed across the grass to the barn, Bill glanced over at Tom, “I wish we could dance together.”

Tom cast an uncomfortable glance at Bill, “I don't think that would be-”

“I know.” Bill rolled his big, expressive eyes, “ _Appropriate_.”

Tom lifted his shoulders, “Well. . .”

“If I can't dance with the only person I want to dance with, then this party is lame.” Bill announced.

“Just give it a chance.” Tom suggested, as he had been doing since Bill had gotten here, “There's not just dancing. There's games, and girls. . .I'm sure you can find someone you'll want to hang out with.”

“If you haven't noticed, Tom, I'm not a very social person.” Bill replied, “I don't make friends very easily.”

“I don't see why not.” Tom replied, “If you weren't so rude to people, they might actually like you.”

Bill shook his head and made a sound of disgust, “I prefer they didn't.”

“You warmed up to me pretty fast.” Tom smiled, elbowing Bill's ribs.

Bill lifted one shoulder and turned his cheek against it. Batting his lashes, he murmured, “You were worth it.”

Tom was glad he didn't have to answer that. They reached the barn and fell into line with the rest of the guests and ranch hands. They were waiting patiently when they were both startled by a voice behind them.

“Well, if it isn't Bill Trumper! I never thought I'd see you here!”

Bill's eyes widened and he spun around to see the person talking to him. Tom quickly followed, confusion building in his mind when he saw one of the boys from the rich kid's group approaching them.

“What's a rich, pretty boy bitch like you doing here?” The young man continued, striding up to Bill with a menacing posture.

Tom's shoulders stiffened at the boy's language, the way he said it to Bill. It wasn't dialogue between friends, he was sure of that.

“Bill. . .” He began, more than willing to step in between the two boys.

“It's fine, Tom.” Bill held up a hand, “I know how to deal with fucking assholes.”

“Is that the best you got?” The other young man, a tall, well-built blond who was Bill's polar opposite retorted.

“Get out of this fucking line and we'll see.” Bill took a step forward, his eyes blazing.

“You wanna blow this party?” The blond reached out to shove Bill by the shoulders, “Let's go.”

“Hey!” Tom returned the gesture, pushing the other boy away from his Bill, “There's no fighting on this ranch.”

“And who are you, cowboy?”

“I'm the vice president of the ranch. It's Mr. Kaulitz to you, young man.”

“Fuck you.” The boy's face twisted in disbelief, “This is my vacation, as lame as it is.”

“My statement stands.” Tom glared at the young man, “If you wanna get kicked out, keep on the way you are. I can go get Miss Franz right now, and she _is_ the boss.”

The young man hesitated and then stepped back, “Fine. Whatever.” His eyes drifted to Bill and he scowled, “I'll see you later, cocksucker.”

Bill lunged against Tom's arm, his face hot with anger, “Touch me and I will rip your balls off!”

“Boys!” Tom raised his voice above them both, “Break it up. Now!”

The blond held his hands up, flipped them both off, and then sauntered away, returning to his group where the other three stood snickering over the encounter.

Tom turned to Bill, blood his still heated, “What the hell was that?”

“That was Dirk Fucking McAllister. The biggest dickhead in L.A.” Bill replied, angrily, “Ever since I publicly disgraced him in highschool, he's had it out for me.”

“What did you do?” Tom asked, slowly.

“It kind of involved a camcorder, a girl, and his tiny penis.” Bill shrugged, “He's never forgiven me.”

“This is a true story?” Tom arched his eyebrow.

“He was a jock, I was a band geek.” Bill shrugged, “We were both the best at what we did, so. . . Match made in fucking heaven, right?”

“He bullied you.” Tom concluded, giving Bill a look that brooked no lies.

Bill sighed, crossing his arms, “God knows he tried. . .and succeeded. . .But I got him back. Better than all the stupid, cruel things he did to me.”

“How did he end up here. . .on the same ranch as you?” Tom wondered, “That's an insane stroke of Fate.”

“I doubt it. All the moms talk.” Bill shook his head, “I bet they've been coming here for years. Their parents cart them off here when they wanna go honeymoon, or gamble, or fuck or whatever.”

“You think your mom heard about this place from their parents?”

“Yeah. She wouldn't send me here if she didn't know anything about it.”

“At least she cares that much.” Tom said, gently.

“Ha!” Bill snorted, “Bullshit. She just doesn't want any lawsuits.”

Tom didn't ask Bill to elaborate on that statement. He was already concerned by what Bill had told him that morning, and by the incident he had just witnessed. It seemed that each day he knew Bill, the poor kid's life got more and more complicated.

When they finally got into the barn, several couples were already dancing to the upbeat tune. There was a piano shoved in one corner, joined by a guitar and a violin. Along one wall, there was a table with snacks, ranging from potato chips to cookies, and bowls of punch next to stacks of plastic cups. The floor had been cleared and swept of hay to make wide space for the dancing.

Bill and Tom found a few folding chairs where they could sit on the sidelines and Tom fetched them cups of punch to sip on while they watched.

Bill watched the couples spinning and bouncing around the room and shook his head, “This isn't really my type of dancing, Tom.”

“Mine either.” Tom chuckled, “It's fun to get out there and try, though.”

Bill laughed into his cup as he took a drink, “Don't think you're getting me on that dancefloor, Tom Kaulitz. It's not going to happen.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.”

“Remember how I told you I'm not into sports?” Bill asked, “Well, it's because I'm not very coordinated, so I'd probably end up stomping on my partner's foot. Trust me, you don't want me out there just as much as me.”

They only watched a few more minutes before Tom felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Natalie standing next to him. She held out her hand, “Care for a dance?”

“Sure.” Tom smiled.

Taking Natalie's hand, he said to Bill, “I'll be right back.”

Natalie led them out onto the floor and they began to slow dance, ignoring the energetic dancing around them. She gazed up at him with gentle eyes he knew so well, but he saw the question coming a mile away.

“Still trying to help Bill?”

He nodded, “I just found out a couple minutes ago, that group of kids that came in this morning went to his school. Bullies, all of them.”

She gave a sad nod, “Maybe it's a good thing you're at his side then.”

“It is.” Tom nodded, firmly, “It almost came to blows out there.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Thank you.”

They danced quietly for another minute before she added, “Do you see yourself in him, Tom? That part of you that came to me all those years ago. Sad. . .broken. . .”

Tom swallowed hard, clutching Natalie closer, “I. . .I think so. Something bad happened to him, Natalie. Something really bad. . .But he doesn't trust me enough yet to tell me. Maybe I don't want to know.”

“If you can help him through it, then I think you do. I never regretted helping you.” She said, earnestly.

“I'm glad you didn't.” He smiled. Then more seriously, he asked, “So. . .You . . .You don't still think what Peter said do you?”

She frowned softly and glanced away, “Tom, I will never judge you; you know that. But, let's just remember, Bill _is_ a minor. I'd just hate to see your friendship get misconstrued as something else.”

“I'd never hurt him.” Tom insisted.

“I know that, but sometimes people make mistakes.”

“Trust me, being Bill's friend is not a mistake.” Tom shook his head, “Someone, for once in his life, needs to do it. . .before the poor kid goes crazy. All he has is himself, and his hatred and anger. That doesn't keep someone alive, not for long.”

“Then help him.” Natalie laid a hand on his chest as the song ended, “The best way you can.”

She turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Tom with empty arms and an anxious heart. She made it sound so simple, but the decision he had before him definitely wasn't. He couldn't disappoint Natalie, and he couldn't hurt Bill. What was the solution?

Tom turned and walked back to where he had left Bill, only to find an empty chair and an overturned cup of punch. Panic immediately surged into his chest and he spun around, searching the barn for Bill's voluminous hair and big, dark eyes. Every face he laid eyes on was no equal to Bill's and only made his worry multiply. He paced this way and that, searching up and down the barn, asking random guests and ranch hands if they had seen Bill. At last, he ran into Nora, who was walking side by side with one of the girls from the church group.

“Nora, have you seen Bill?” Tom demanded.

She frowned for a second, then nodded, “I think so. . .I think I saw him leave the barn with some blond guy.”

“What?” Tom swore under his breath, then quickly thanked Nora for her help.

Tearing past the twirling couples and idling hands, he raced out the front door of the barn into the yard, where the moon now rose above the ranch. The last fragments of daylight were quickly fading, leaving only the pewter illumination of a half moon to light the grass. Up ahead, Tom could barely make out two figures rolling around and struggling on the ground. His ears quickly detected the pain and antagonized cries of Bill, joined by a deeper, angrier voice.

Tom was still cursing in anger and fear as he broke into a run across the grass. He quickly closed the distance between himself and the two boys, assessing with wide eyes the situation. Dirk was one top of Bill, straddling the smaller, thinner boy's waist and holding him down by the neck. His other fist was cocked back, ready to strike while Bill's reed-thin arms flailed and smacked at Dirk's chest and face. A gasping sound wrenched itself from Bill's throat, launching Tom into attack mode. He came at Dirk full force, grabbing the kid around his middle and swinging him off of Bill and onto the grass. Dirk gave a startled shout and started to push himself up off the ground, ready to fight Tom instead. Tom swung without thinking, slamming his first right across Dirk's jaw. The kid's head snapped back and he slumped to the ground, half-unconscious.

Tom fell to his knees at Bill's side, pulling the gasping, coughing boy up into his arms, “Bill? Are you okay?”

Bill nodded, grasping at his throat and wheezing.

“Jesus.” Tom cursed, rising from the ground once more. He turned to Dirk, yelling, “What the hell is wrong with you? You could've seriously injured or even killed him!”

Dirk drew back, holding his arms up to protect himself.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Tom took another threatening step toward Dirk, his heart racing with anger and adrenaline that was still telling him to fight.

“I'm not letting this go, asshole!” Dirk shouted, pushing himself up off the ground, swaying uneasily.

“Neither am I!” Tom growled, lifting his fist once more.

“You're not getting away with this.” Dirk replied, spitting blood into the grass.

“Get your sorry ass away from me.” Tom ordered.

Dirk pointed a threatening finger at Tom and then stumbled away, back toward the guest cabins. Tom rushed back to Bill's side, holding the dazed boy's head between his hands, “Are you okay? Can you breathe right?”

“Yeah,” Bill rasped, “Thank you.”

“You're more than welcome. You were right about him being an asshole.”

Bill nodded, “I would know.”

“Come on.” Tom slid his arm underneath Bill's and gently lifted him off the ground, “You really thought you could whoop him, did you?”

“I had to try.” Bill shrugged, “I don't want to spend my whole life as a coward, letting people walk on me.”

“Well, you're right about that.” Tom admitted, “But I don't think fighting Dirk is the way to prove that. You could've really been hurt.”

Bill shrugged, “I'm okay.”

“I'm sorry, but you haven't really convinced me.” Tom shook his head, “Do I need to get my first aid kit out again?”

“No.” Bill insisted, “Can we just go somewhere other than the party? How about that lake out there?”

Tom glanced over at the shimmering lake, recalling how he had sat there on Bill's first night on the ranch, thinking about his past, helping Bill the way the ranch and Natalie had helped him. He realized he had made more progress since that initial night than he had ever expected.

“Okay.” He agreed.

They slowly walked the water's edge and sat down on the grass side by side. Tom couldn't deny the thrill that went through him when Bill wrapped his arms around his bicep and rested his head on Tom's shoulder. Ignoring the red flags popping up in his head, he reached up to stroke Bill's hair, cradling Bill's soft head up against his neck and shoulder.

“You know he's going to go to Natalie and everyone about you hitting him.” Bill whispered.

“Yeah.” Tom replied, “But Natalie knows me, I'm the VP, and he was attacking you. He had it coming.”

His parents could sue the ranch.”

Tom sighed, “Let's not think about it, okay? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. . .if we even do. I just want you to get to feeling better.”

Bill sighed contentedly and snuggled closer, “Me too.”

Tom slid his arm out of Bill's grasp and put it around the boy's shoulders, holding him closer. He instinctively kissed the crown of his Bill's head, whispering something comforting, something about everything being okay. Perhaps a lie, but a good one that made them both feel better.

“I wish I could stay here with you.” Bill whispered, at last, “Forever. I don't want to go back home.”

“That's still three weeks away.” Tom replied, “You're here with me now.”

“But it'll be gone soon.” Bill replied, sadly, “Just like everything else good in my life.”

“I told you, we'll figure something out.”

“Yeah, but that's a lie, isn't it?” Bill lifted his head and looked fearfully into Tom's eyes, “What if I never see you again?”

Tom sighed, lowering his head, “I'm just trying to make you feel better. . .To be honest, I don't know what's going to happen.”

“Then let's make the best of it now.” Bill murmured.

Tom kept his eyes down, staring hard at the grass. This moment was the crossroads. He knew what Bill was asking of him, but could he follow through? Could he give Bill what he wanted, what he himself wanted? In the moment, it was so hard to remember all his reasons for saying no. He just wanted to love Bill like no one else ever had, take care of him, meet all his needs, make him feel worthy of that kind of treatment.

“Tom. . .” Bill put his hand on Tom's cheek and lifted his face, “Please. . .I trust you.”

Tom swallowed hard, “You know what I've told you. I don't want to hurt you, or take advantage-”

“I know.” Bill replied, softly, “But I've given you every chance, and you haven't taken any of them. . .That's how I know you're the one.”

Tom felt as if his heart were being squeezed, but not painfully. Like a warm embrace, like all his desire and love flooding that one place in his chest. Bill trusted him _that_ much; it was almost too good to be true.

“Bill, darling. . .” Tom's fingers grazed at Bill's cheeks before latching on and pulling him closer.

Bill leaned in, his mouth parting and reaching for Tom's. The color was high on his cheeks and his mouth was an alluring red. Tom couldn't have stopped himself now, even if he wanted to.

Their mouths connected softly in a tender kiss, full of meaning and desire. Tom moaned softly at the first taste of Bill's mouth. He ended the kiss with a suck before turning Bill's chin up and sealing their lips together once more. The kiss quickly grew more heated, his lips pressing and sucking while their hands sought out each other's bodies. Tom felt Bill's soft, slender hands against his chest, pulling at his shirt and bringing their bodies into alignment.

Sliding his fingers into Bill's hair, Tom dragged the boy closer. He palmed Bill's hip and rose to his knees, pulling Bill up against him. Bill lay in the circle of Tom's arms, letting his head fall back into an even better angle. Tom squeezed Bill against him and sent his tongue out to plunder Bill's hot, wet mouth. Bill eagerly opened his lips, moaning in delight when Tom's tongue flicked along his lower lip and then slid inside. Tom quested all along Bill's tongue and palate, dragging Bill's saliva back into his mouth with each thrust of his tongue. Bill naively offered his tongue, doing a less sauve job of it than Tom was. His eagerness more than made up for his inexperience as he began to writhe in Tom's grasp, grabbing at Tom's hair and rolling his hips up against the bulge forming in Tom's jeans.

Tom lowered them to the grass and levered himself up above Bill, keeping their mouths connected with soft, quick kisses. With trembling, eager fingers, he slid the suspenders off Bill's shoulders and reached down to lift the hem of his shirt. Bill shivered and moaned, lifting his arms above his head to completely offer himself. Tom pushed the shirt up Bill's chest, keeping it pinned beneath Bill's chin while he lowered his mouth to one hard nipple.

The moment his lips made contact with the sensative nub, Bill arched beneath him, gasping aloud. He licked softly, pushing the nipple to highest point before swirling his tongue around the sensative flesh. Bill moaned, grabbing at Tom's head and pulling his mouth down on the nipple.

Tom forced Bill's legs apart and slid between them, palming Bill's ass while he sucked hard on the nipple. Bill bucked against him, pushing his clothed erection into Tom's stomach each time Tom sucked the nipple deep into his mouth.

“Oh my god. . .” Bill moaned, his voice low and rough with pleasure, “Tom. . .Oh, Tom, please. . .”

Bill's begging was the most erotic thing that had ever fallen upon Tom's ears, and he simple couldn't deny it. He let go of Bill's nipple and sat back, his fingers tugging at the studded belt around Bill's slim waist. Bill gazed up at him with wide, needy eyes, his tongue working across dry, panting lips.

The moment the pants were open, Bill began to wiggle out of them. Tom gave the tight jeans a hard tug, freeing Bill's long, pale legs of the material. He could see the very obvious shape of Bill's cock beneath his boxers, throbbing to see light and feel Tom's hands.

“Please, please. . .” Bill began to moan once more, grabbing at Tom's hands to make them keep moving.

Tom bit his lower lip in concentration and dragged the boxers down. His mouth drifted open when he lied eyes on the long, thick column of flesh, throbbing red and full with desire. Bill was completely hairless down here, his skin pale like cream and velvety soft. Tom stroked his hands over his lower stomach, the sharp points of his hips and his quivering thighs, so in awe of the beauty he had to take a moment to just _look_.

“Tom. . .” Bill whined, lifting his hips to offer his straining dick.

“Yes, it's okay.” Tom murmured, reaching up to stroke Bill's cheekbone, “I'm going to take care of this for you.”

Bill struggled to swallow back saliva, his eyes blinking rapidly, his lips moving soundlessly. He was nodding vigorously, however, and Tom could see how much he had been wanting this.

Tom laid a reverent hand on the hard, yet smooth skin. Bill's face went slack, his lips moving with unspoken words of pleasure. His dark eyes met Tom's with desperation, and he urged his erection up against Tom's hand. Tom slowly wrapped his fingers around the thick flesh, letting his grip grow firm with the first stroke.

“Oh. . .Oh. . .” was all Bill could manage. His eyes were round, his cheeks bright pink.

Tom dragged his palm up and down the throbbing column, keeping his pace slow enough so that he could relish each inch of flesh, pulsing just for him.

“Tom. . .” Bill's brows slammed together. He let out a pleading, mewling sound and thrust his hips against Tom's fist, “Please. . .faster. . .”

Tom leaned down to place a tender kiss on Bill's forehead, “This is the first time, Bill. We're going to slow down and enjoy it, okay?”

“But. . .but. . .” Bill began, lifting panting lips to Tom's, “I want it so bad.”

Tom stroked Bill's cheek and dragged his thumb across the plush, lower lip, “I know. You're going to cum, Bill. . .When I say.”

Bill's eyes widened a little, “That's. . .”

“Mmm, mean?” Tom asked with a smile as he pumped his fist in slow strokes over Bill's cock.

“So. . .hot. . .” Bill whispered.

Tom's smile broadened and he allowed his hand to move a little faster. To be honest, he didn't know how long he could deny Bill for; he was so desirable, lying here beneath Tom's hand, moaning for it, so turned on. . .and Tom. . .Tom hadn't touched anyone this way in years; he had almost forgotten what it was like. Now that he had Bill under him, he couldn't imagine how he had survived, or how he had denied Bill's advances.

Bill whimpered quietly each time Tom's hand finished a thrust, reaching the head to give it a slow, firm stroke. He reached down, his fingers hovering over his balls, “Can I?” He murmured the question pleadingly.

Tom shook his head, “I think I've got this.”

“Ohhh. . .” Bill sighed, letting his hand fall to the grass, “I've. . .I've been thinking about this for _days_. . .”

“Yeah?”

“I. . .” Bill flushed a bit then, whispered, “I've been jerking off. . .”

Tom felt his heart begin to beat a little faster, hearing those words. So, he wasn't the only one. . .

“Thinking about me?” Tom finished.

Bill nodded, biting his lower lip, “Yeah. . .”

Tom slid down into the grass, plying Bill's legs open wider. He hesitated for only a second before opening his lips and letting the swollen head of Bill's cock slide onto his tongue. Bill gasped aloud, his body arching wildly from the grass. His fingers sank into Tom's hair while his feet dug into the grass and dirt, pushing himself up against Tom's mouth.

“Ohh God!”

Tom almost lost his breath as he took Bill down. He had never done this before, but it was perhaps the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. This moment redefined everything he knew about sex and his orientation. But this wasn't just a girl or a boy – this was Bill; _his_ Bill.

Tom sucked up and down the long, throbbing rod, grasping at the base and twisting his fingers back and forth around it. Once a long time ago, a girl had tried that technique on him, and it had nearly sent him to heaven right then and there. His theory was quickly proven when Bill gave a breathy screech and bucked against Tom's mouth, nearly choking him.

Tom pulled back, caught his breath and then clamped his mouth back down on Bill's dick. Bill was moaning in abandon now, so close to climax he wasn't even aware of his surroundings anymore. At that moment, they couldn't have noticed or cared who back the barn might here them. This was their first moment together, and nothing could shatter it.

Tom could feel Bill's body begin to stiffen, his moans dwindling into concentrated silence. He grudgingly sucked off of Bill's cock and switched back to using his hand. He pulled Bill's hips up onto his lap and leaned over Bill's slender, quivering body.

“Come here.” He growled possessively against Bill's ear, dragging his mouth and stubble across the sensitive skin of Bill's stretched out neck, “Cum for me, baby. Cum. . .”

Bill moaned, grabbing at Tom's hair as his body grew stiff. His mouth fell open, and his eyes rolled back right before his lids slammed shut. His face twisted from a look of desire and need, to one of ecstasy. His butt rose up off of Tom's lap, and with a cry, he came hard. Body jerking wildly against Tom, he squeezed Tom's hair in a vice grip and let out panting moans. Tom kept his hand working firmly over Bill's cock until he felt the cum explode over his fingers and dapple his neck and jaw with hot, sticky wetness.

He leaned back and watched as Bill's body twitched with the final spasms, and his face relaxed. Big, brown eyes slowly opened to meet Tom's, and a slow smile formed on his mouth.

“Oh. . .my. . .God. .”

Tom drew his hand back, inspecting the wet mess Bill had made all over it, “Jesus.”

Bill lay still for several seconds, staring at the starry sky until his breathing evened, “Tom. . . have you. . .have you done that before?”

Tom shook his head, “God, no. . .”

“No one has ever. . .ever made me cum like that before.”

Bill slowly sat up, glancing down at his wilting cock.

“All better?” Tom smiled, grabbing Bill's waist with his cum slick hand.

“Mmm, yes.” Bill nodded, “I'm going to have to take a dip in the lake to wash off.”

Tom laughed in agreement.

“Or both of us will. . .” Bill trailed off, suggestively, eying Tom's crotch hopefully.

Tom swallowed against a bone dry throat, finally taking a second to think about what he had just done. Basically, he had destroyed every promise he had made to Bill. . .Of course, Bill didn't seem too upset about that. . .and fuck, Tom was tired of denying himself! He hadn't cum since that night after the video conference, when Bill had come to him crying. When he had kissed Bill, jacked off because of his vulnerability. But it wasn't like that this time. Bill was completely in his right mind, and more than willing to return the favor.

Tom nodded, slowly, “I. . .I don't want to force you.”

“Oh, no. You're not.” Bill shook his head and crawled forward.

“Okay. . .” Tom whispered, his voice thin and shaking.

Bill nimbly opened Tom's belt and tugged the zipper down. Tom pulled the jeans down to his thighs with unwieldy hands before allowing Bill to do all the rest. He didn't seem so young now that he was the one taking control, touching Tom with such confidence. He could only imagine how long Bill had been fantasizing about this moment.

Tom drew in a staggered breath when Bill drew his boxers down and laid a soft, warm hand against his hard dick. Everything stable and logical inside of him seemed to be sucked from his body in that single touch; all he could concentrate on was the throbbing need contained in the aching length of his cock. He could feel the pulsations spreading out, humming through his whole body in a way that made him weak. He fell back against the grass, a ragged moan spilling from his lips.

Bill crawled onto his lap, seating his tiny, round ass on Tom's thighs and planting his feet wide on either side of Tom. Tom felt their cocks come into contact, the rock hard texture of his dragging along the barely erect skin of Bill's. He gasped once more, grabbing at Bill's hand. He eagerly guided Bill's hand over his cock several times before Bill pried his hand away.

“I can do it.” He insisted.

Tom closed his eyes, tried to breathe right. He nodded, “Okay. You're right.”

“I am.” Bill agreed with a smile.

He curled his fingers around Tom's dick once more. His hand slowly climbed from the base to the head, swallowing up the swollen, leaking skin. Tom gave a strangled moan as Bill dragged his hand back down, pulling back foreskin to rub his thumb down into the wet crevice.

“Jesus!” Tom cried, his hips riding up beneath Bill's weight.

“Mmm, so wet. . .” Bill's tone was fascinated, and so erotic.

He swirled his thumb through the swelling tide of pre-cum then dragged the wetness all over the aching head until it gleamed in the dim moonlight. Tom was barely breathing now except for shallow gasps that hardly filled his lungs. He twitched and writhed beneath Bill's deft hand, so turned on, so ready to cum, if only Bill would rub him a little harder.

“Bill. . .Bill, please. . .” The words came out in a rasping moan.

Bill drew his hand back down the shaft, squeezing and turning his hand. His tongue flicked out, swiping away the cum smeared over the head. Tom squirmed, turning his gaze down to watch Bill's tongue polish the head with quick, fleeting strokes.

“Fuck. . .” He swore, throwing his head back against the grass, “Bill. . .”

Bill's hand came up to meet his mouth and his thumb stroked up over the head. The firm touch sent pleasure ricocheting through Tom's body, and his hips rose with need. Bill's hand slid back down and then caught a slow, pressured rhythm.

“Yes. . .” Tom moaned in delight, rolling his hips up against Bill's hand.

He felt fingers tugging at his shirt and looked down to see Bill pulling the buttons open while jacking Tom's cock. Tom lifted trembling hands to help, knowing he was about to make just as big a mess as Bill had. When the last button was open, Bill pushed both sides away, baring Tom's heaving chest. He leaned forward, dragging his free hand over Tom's pec and abs.

“Oh, mmm. . .” Bill hummed in delight, laying his cheek against one hard nipple.

Tom moaned a response and laid a hand on Bill's head, holding him close as the pleasure circled in on him. Bill's hand squeezed and pulled at his dick with enthusiasm, not at all teasing like he had been before. His palm was warm and steady, the skin soft and smooth, so unlike Tom's own calloused hands.

Tom felt his muscles clamp down, his insides lurch with pleasure. It came swiftly, knocking the breath out of him and drowning his senses in pleasure. His hips bucked, nearly tossing Bill off his body as he was consumed by the orgasm. The spasms hit him one after the other, raking across his nerve-endings with unparalleled fulfillment that had him gasping and groaning loudly. His fingers curled into Bill's hair, clutching the boy's head to his chest while Bill finished him off with several thrusts of his hand. Tom felt hot cum raining down on his stomach and spattering his chest like a hailstorm of pleasure.

It went on for several moments until Tom's body collapsed wearily to the grass. His hand fell from Bill's hair, and he lay staring at the sky. The sound of crickets chirping suddenly cut through the haze of pleasure, and he remembered where they were. Still on the ranch, out by the lake, in plain sight. Jesus, what had he been thinking?

When Bill finally lifted his head, he was smiling, pleased with himself.

“You're very good.” Tom whispered, his voice hoarse from moaning it's way through the hand job.

“Thank you.” Bill murmured, his cheeks coloring.

“We should go get cleaned up and get back to the party. They'll be missing us.” Tom said, despising the very thought.

Bill nodded, dourly.

They picked themselves up off the ground and gathered their clothing. Tom put his pants back on, doing his best not to get them stained with cum.

“So, to your cabin?” Bill asked, arching a suggestive brow at him.

“Yes. To _clean up._ ” Tom replied, pointedly, “Let's go before someone sees us.”

They started off across the yard, and Bill said, “I think someone would've seen us by now if they were going to.”

“I'm not taking any chances.”

“I think you just did.”

Their eyes met under the pale moonlight, and even in the dark, Tom could see the challenge in Bill's eyes. He knew he couldn't go back now; rejecting Bill this time would have fatal consequences, ones Tom knew he could never face. He was involved now, too deep to claw his way back out.

“I did.” Tom answered, at last, “It might've been the right one to take, though.”

Bill smiled, relief flashing across his features, “So, you're not mad at me. . .or yourself?”

Tom shrugged, thinking over his answer. To say he was mad would be a lie; perhaps disappointed with himself, in disbelief that he had done it, maybe even in shock that he had changed teams so suddenly. . .but not mad.

Finally, he shook his head, “No. . .How could I be after. . . _that.”_

Bill laughed and put his arm around Tom's waist, “So. . .It was good?”

“Definitely.”

“You. . .you wanna do it again?” Bill asked, hopefully.

Tom crossed his arm over Bill's shoulders, dragging him in closer, “I don't think I have a choice.”

 

 

 


	11. Sunshine After Rain

Day 7

 

Tom could feel Natalie's eyes on him all through breakfast. He had known the woman for six years, and he could feel that she wasn't pleased with him. As Bill had said, Dirk had probably already reported Tom's “assault.” Tom knew it wasn't a high possibility, but he was suddenly afraid she knew what had happened after that. . .what he had done to Bill. Fuck – what Bill had done to him!

He squirmed and sweated all the way through the meal, relieved when she finally pulled him aside to express her displeasure.

“I want you to meet me in my office after lunch.” She said, briskly, her blue eyes snapping ice.

“To go over finances?” Tom asked, trying to act blissfully unaware.

Her thin brows tugged together, “No, Tom. You know what I mean.”

His gaze dropped to his boots and he gave a sigh, “Dirk McAllister, right? You know I can explain.”

She crossed her arms, “Please do. . .In my office, after lunch.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You can tell Mr. Trumper to join you.” She added, her tone switching to highly professional, something she did when she was extremely pissed off at him. . .unwilling to say they were friends, not just business associates.

“Of course.”

She gave him a stiff nod and walked away, her spine locked.

Tom let out another sigh and dragged a hand over his eyes. He had known the moment his first came into contact with Dirk McAllister's sneering face that there would be repercussions. Major consequences from the person he respected most . . . He didn't want to disappoint Natalie, but there was no way in hell he would let that jerk attack Bill. He intended to give a complete blow-by-blow description of last night's colorful events – an explanation that would bring Natalie back to his side, not the side of the rich, privileged, and entitled Dirk.

Tom headed outside to do his chores, walking first to the barns where he would feed the horses and muck out stalls. He was marching down the aisle, completely lost in thought about the incident with Dirk when when a pair of long, slender hands reached out of a stall to latch onto his shirt. Tom gave a startled cry, but quickly sealed his mouth shut when he realized it was only Bill. They stumbled into the stall and Bill pressed his slim, warm body up against Tom's, trapping Tom to the wall.

“Hey, cowboy.” He purred, craning his neck for a kiss.

Tom squirmed and turned his head away, “Bill, stop.”

Crestfallen, Bill let go of him and stepped back, “What's wrong?”

“Not here!” Tom exclaimed, poking his head out of the stall to the check for ranch hands or guests, “It's too public.”

“Come on.” Bill sighed, rolling his eyes, “I already checked the whole damn barn. There's no one in here but us.”

“I'm not doing. . . _that_ in here.” Tom insisted, pointed a finger at the dusty floor of the stall.

“I just wanted a kiss.” Bill replied, making sweet eyes at Tom.

“I know what _that_ will lead to.” Tom replied.

Bill grinned, “I'm irresistible.”

Tom hesitated for a second, lowering bashful eyes to the floor, “Yes. ..I suppose you are.”

Bill leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around Tom's collar, “Not even one kiss?” He whined.

Tom gazed into those dark, chocolate eyes, captured. How could he say no to this delectable boy? He was a child, really – a baby with a pure mind, and a heart full of love he had never been able to expend to anyone else. For someone who had been abused and taken advantage of all his life, he was so willing to give without anything in return. . . Tom almost felt regretful for taking until he remembered Bill's words – _I've given you every chance, and you haven't taken any of them. That's how I know you're the one._

Tom let his mouth drift in closer, brush up against Bill's in an almost chaste gesture. Bill strained forward, his lips parting in a willing offering. Tom nipped gently at the full lower lip, then swiped his tongue across the soft indention. He wanted to leave a mark, brand Bill as his, but he knew he could not. There could be no evidence that he had touched Bill inappropriately.

Their lips met again, this time latching on for a long, breathless caress. Bill moaned against him, his body pressing Tom harder into the wall. Tom groped at Bill's waist, his fingers curling around his t-shirt and lifting it just enough to feel along the flesh just above his waistband. Bill shivered and his teeth clamped down on Tom's lower lip. The bold move left Tom moaning and weak-kneed; last night had taught him not to underestimate Bill's knowledge or expertise, and he wondered what else the boy could do to him.

His hands felt lower and he got two handfuls of Bill's ass, squeezing the tight, little globes of flesh hard. Bill gave a delighted moan and undulated his hips, pushing his ass into Tom's hands and grinding his crotch against Tom's in the same motion. The action was followed by a flick of Bill's tongue, suggesting Tom's come out to play as well. Inside the back of his mind, Tom's logic was screaming at him stop because this kind of display was far too dangerous in a far too public place, but the more Bill gave the more Tom wanted to take. He was practically hypnotized.

He thoughtlessly opened his mouth and arched his tongue forward, swiping across Bill's. The taste of his saliva was strong and sweet. . .addicting if Tom let this relationship go on. Perhaps, he was already lost to the allure.

Their tongues collided again and again, lips working sloppily across the other's in desperate race for gratification. They were both breathing hard, moaning in desire when a thump and a whinny from another stall tore them about.

Tom gasped in a breath and wriggled out of Bill's grasp. He stuck his head out of the stall and searched with wild eyes for another person, but they were joined only by the horses.

“Jesus, Tom, it was just a horse.” Bill giggled.

“Okay, we have to stop.” Tom held up his hands while still trying to catch his breath.

“Okay, okay. . .Another time.” Bill suggested, his lips forming a gleeful smirk.

Tom nodded, “Right. . .We have another problem though.”

Bill's happy expression fell, “What is it? Is it Dirk?”

“I'm afraid he went to Natalie, just like you said. She asked me to meet her in her office after lunch today. . .and to bring you along.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Just tell the truth.” Tom said, immediately, “With Natalie, it's best to just tell it how it happened. Trust me, she'll know if you're lying. Especially me. We've known each other too long.”

“Okay, but I don't want you to get in trouble.” Bill said, worriedly.

“I'm not worried about myself.” Tom replied, “We've worked out worse problems than this. . . The last thing I want is for you to be kicked off the ranch for fighting. It's happened before.”

“She would do that?” Bill asked, growing pale with panic.

“It would be a bit premature at this point, but if you two keep it up. . .”

“No.” Bill shook his head, his hands grabbing onto Tom's, “She has to understand – Dirk attacked _me_ , not the other way around. I didn't even want to fight him!”

“I know.” Tom replied, soothingly, “Just tell her that, and I'm sure we can work something out.”

“I don't want to leave.” Bill shook his head, his big eyes glistening, “I don't want to leave you.”

“It's okay.” Tom drew Bill into his arms, “Like I said, just tell the truth and it'll be okay.”

 

~

 

Bill followed Tom around while Tom did his chores, but their time together was darkly overshadowed by the impending meeting with Natalie. By the time they reached the front steps of the main house for lunch, his mood had descended into dour pouting that included crossed arms and little conversation. When the food was set out before them, he barely touched the meal. The chance that he could be kicked off the Miranda terrified him. He had spent only a week here – only one day of intimacy with Tom. He could not be removed just because of an asshole like Dirk McAllister.

When lunch ended, Natalie gave a final word and promptly headed to her office, giving Tom a serious look to remind him of the meeting. Tom threw his napkin down and glanced over at Bill, “Well, let's get this over with.”

They trudged upstairs to Natalie's office with Tom leading the way. Bill wanted to reach over and grab Tom's hand for support, but he knew Tom would object. He knew he should be happy with the fact that he had actually gotten Tom to be intimate with him, but he wished they didn't have to worry about what other people thought. He had been judged all his life for his looks, his style, his choice in music, his sexuality. . .He was sick of caring what others – especially adults – thought of the choices he made. He just wanted to be with Tom and not care what anyone else said about it.

When they stepped into the office, Bill saw Dirk seated in one of the chairs facing Natalie's desk. He was slumped low, arms crossed, looking pissed as hell that he was still being called to the principal's office after graduating this spring. The boss sat behind the grand, oak wood desk with her hands folded loosely on the surface in front of her. She was all business now, no emotion. Bill expected she hadn't met Tom – a friend for six years – with such professionalism.

“Bill, Tom. . .Please have a seat.” Natalie motioned to the two open chairs in front of her.

They sat down, Tom stealing the seat in the middle to avoid having the quarreling teens seated right next to each other.

“I think you all know why we're here.” Natalie began, “So, I'd like to hear the story from the beginning from each of you.”

“I already told you my story.” Dirk interrupted, angrily, “That little asshole thought he could fight me!”

“First, of all, young man, _do not_ interrupt me.” Natalie pointed a threatening finger at Dirk, “Second of all, I will no stand for that kind of derogatory language in this office. Do you understand.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dirk shrugged.

“Okay, since you've given up your right to speak, Bill can tell me what happened.” Natalie added, dismissively. She gave Bill a brief smile, “Go ahead, son.”

Bill shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the sweat gathered on his forehead, “Well, first he approached me in the line when we were going to the barn dance. He called me names. . .said we should fight. . .” He hesitated before remembering Tom's advice, “To be honest, I wanted to 'cause he pissed me off so bad, but then Tom. . .Mr. Kaulitz stepped in and broke it up.”

Natalie nodded, “A good thing. What happened next?”

“We went in and sat down then you came and asked Mr. Kaulitz to dance so I was just sitting there by myself. That's when Dirk came up. He started harassing me again, calling me names, so we went outside. I tried to tell him to fuck off-. . .I mean, leave me alone. . .but he started trying to hit me, so I fought back. He got me down, started choking me. . .I thought I was gonna pass out. Then Tom came out and pulled Dirk off of me. I guess he hit him. . .”

“Okay, so there was no part in this incident where you tried to start a fight with Dirk?”

“No! I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

Natalie sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. She cast a withering look at Dirk, “That's not exactly how you told it to me, Dirk.”

“He's lying.” Dirk accused, “Just trying to save his own ass. He was just as guilty as me.”

Natalie arched an eyebrow, “That remains to be seen.”

Dirk huffed and crossed his arms, muttering, “Bullshit,” under his breath.

“Mr. Kaulitz.” Natalie turned to Tom, “Can you corroborate either one of these boys' stories?”

“Yes, what Bill said was right.” Tom nodded, “Dirk approached Bill in the line, name-calling, just harassing Bill, but I intervened, then when I came back from dancing with you, I saw that he was gone. I expected Dirk had come back for more so I asked around and Nora told me she saw Bill leaving with someone who sounded like Dirk. I went outside and found that. . .” Tom swallowed back any degrading names and continued, “. . .kid holding Bill to the ground, choking him and hitting him. It didn't look like Bill stood a chance so I intervened again. I apologize if I got too physical, but it really pisses me off when I see someone getting the crap beat out of them. He was _choking_ Bill, Natalie. That's crossing the line way too much.”

Natalie nodded her head, “I agree, Tom.”

“Thank you.”

“All right. . . .Dirk, I'm going to have to call your parents and tell them about this. You will also be excluded from any of the group activities for the duration of this week. Bill, you're free to go.”

“What?” Dirk cried, “That's not even fair! He was fighting too!”

“It sounded like he was defending himself to me.” Natalie replied, coldly, “You can return to your cabin after I call your parents. I'm going to be watching you very carefully.”

Bill sank down into his seat with relief. He wanted to cry and thank Natalie profusely, fall at her feet and kiss them. Perhaps the bosswoman wasn't so bad after all.

“As for you, Tom, I'm a little disappointed you couldn't show more restraint, but I can't really put you on punishment since you are the vice president. I expect you to be more professional next time.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Tom said.

“I can't speak for Dirk's parents, however. You did assault a minor.”

“I'll apologize to them personally if I have to.”

“That may not do it, asshole.” Dirk snapped, “When my parents find out-”

“What did I tell you about the language?” Natalie cut in, “You can sit there quietly for the rest of this meeting, young man.”

Dirk quieted, mumbling one last rebellious remark before falling into silence.

Natalie turned to Bill, “You can go, Bill. . .Tom, I'd like to have a moment alone with you.”

Bill hesitated to leave without Tom, but he knew he couldn't argue with Natalie. He got up and left the office, giving one last longing glance at Tom's back before slipping into the hallway.

Natalie and Tom went into the other room and Natalie shut the door firmly behind her. She was shaking her head already.

“Please, Tom, tell me you're never going to lay a hand on that kid again. This is an outrage.”

“I'm sorry, Natalie.” Tom apologized, worriedly, “But you have to understand how I felt. I saw this kid trying to choke out Bill, and I got so mad.”

“I understand how you felt about someone attacking your friend, but I cannot have lawsuits on my hands. Do you understand how serious this could become?”

“Yes, and I take full responsibility.”

“Good.” Natalie sighed, “That was not the way to handle it.”

“I know. You've always been much more diplomatic than me.” Tom agreed, running a hand through his hair, “I'll try harder next time, Natalie, but that kid is a jerk. Bill told about their disputes in high school and he's a real bully.”

“I can sense that.”

“Good. Because if I ever see that kid laying his hands on Bill like that again, I won't just deprive him of group activities.” Tom replied, vehemently.

“Tom.” Natalie chided.

“Can I be straight with you, without judgment?” Tom demanded.

“Yes, of course.”

“Bill more means more to me than anyone has in years.” Tom admitted, knowing he was testing the waters with that statement, “I trust him, I believe in him, I care about him, and I want to protect him because no one else does – not even his parents. He has been abused all his life, and I'm not gonna let some puny little asshole do it some more. If I ever catch that kid assaulting Bill again, I _will_ come down on him.”

Natalie looked a bit startled by his proclamation, but nodded at last, “I understand.”

Tom let out a relieved sigh. Already, he wanted to admit to his best friend that he was in love with Bill, that he meant more to Tom than anything else. He wanted to tell her he was finally getting better. . .But she would never completely understand, and though she would try not to judge, who couldn't? It was an unorthodox relationship to anyone's eyes.

Natalie turned to leave, but paused, her eyes softening. She laid a hand on Tom's shoulder and gently added, “I'm glad you've finally found someone to replace her.”

 

~

 

Tom found Bill sitting out by the lake, his arms crossed over his knees, his chin resting on his forearm. The smallest of breezes tossed his bangs across his forehead and made strands of hair dance across his thin shoulders. Tom was past the point of being uncomfortable with the fact that Bill was beautiful, but was concerned with his own restraint. The kiss that morning in the barn had been pushing it. Out here in the open. . .Bill was doing dangerous things to him.

Tom approached Bill from behind, “Can I sit here?”

Bill turned sharply, a smile spreading across his face, “Yeah! I've been sitting out here for I don't know how long. . .Seemed like forever. What did Miss Franz want to say to you?”

Tom shrugged, “Nothing I didn't already know.”

“About Dirk?”

Tom gave a short nod, “I promised to show more restraint, but I'll be honest, Bill. If I see that kid touch you again. . .”

“You'll whip his ass?” Bill smiled, resting his head on Tom's shoulder.

Tom held his hands, “What other option is there? I'm not gonna let a dick like Dirk beat on my friends.”

Bill lifted his head, his eyes growing serious. He shook his head, “I don't want to be your friend.”

Tom met his gaze, anticipating the last part of the sentence. He knew what Bill wanted, but could he give it to him? Their relationship was odd, at best, not exactly the kind of thing people brought out into the spotlight.

“I want to be your lover.” Bill finished, his voice soft and shy.

Tom swallowed hard, a flush creeping across his cheeks with the intimate label, “Bill. . .”

“I don't expect you to give up your life here, or tell everyone you've changed teams.” Bill lifted his shoulder, “I just want to be with you. . .For as long as I can before I have to go back home.”

“That's exactly it.” Tom lifted his hand to cradle Bill's cheek, unable to stop himself, “If we do this, there's no going back. . .And then, when this month is over, we'll be separated again. I don't know if I could live with that.”

“I'll come visit you.” Bill explained, reaching up to grasp Tom's arm, “I'll text you, and we can have video conferences like my parents do. . .good ones, though.”

“Those things are all good, but I don't know if I could go through everyday without you.” Tom whispered, drawing Bill's pleading lips closer, “Not being able to see you. . .kiss you. . .touch you.”

Bill's breaths rushed across Tom's mouth, sweet-smelling and enticing. His big, dark eyes gazed into Tom's with a desire and a need deeper than anything Tom had ever experienced. He wanted to sate that need, to stroke it and love it until Bill was satisfied, until he never remembered the pain of his past anymore.

Bill's mouth reached out to nudge at Tom's, begging for contact. His black nails dipped into Tom's arm, holding his hand tightly to Bill's cheek and dragging him closer. Tom let himself go for just a few seconds, kissing Bill's mouth in a few soft touches before forcing himself to pull back.

“This is too exposed.” Tom whispered, his voice guttural with need.

“Then let's go somewhere private.” Bill replied, his eyes searching Tom's face for a positive response.

“I have a little bit of time before the guys are expecting me to come help with breaking in the colts.” Tom nodded, “We can go to my cabin.”

“Okay. Let's go.” Bill replied, eagerly.

They jumped up from the grass and started across the yard to the cabins, their strides long. The walk across the yard seemed far too long, much longer than it usually did. Tom was panting, more out of need than exertion by the time they reached the front porch of his living quarters. Bill's hand tugged at his, latching on the moment they were out of view.

They crashed into the cabin, hands groping once the door was shut behind them. Tom pinned Bill up against the door, fitting his hands beneath his t-shirt and dragging his palms all over the smooth, warm flesh. Bill moaned aloud, his teeth biting at Tom's lips in wild desire. Tom slid one hand down to grab at Bill's ass, pulling Bill's hips tight against his own. The hard figures of their dicks met behind layers of clothing with chafing need, dragging groans from their mouths.

Tom kissed Bill hard, making his lips red and swollen before he managed to draw back. He pressed his forehead against Bill's, massaging his hands over Bill's ass and bare back while he moaned, “Want you. . .so bad. ..”

Bill's eyes widened when the confession fell on his ears. He panted against Tom's mouth, quivering fingers grasping at Tom's shirt, “I. ..I. ..want you too.” He whispered, unsteadily.

Tom drew back, already lifting Bill's shirt over his head, “I want you naked.”

Bill compliantly lifted his arms. The moment the shirt cleared his head, Tom was back on him, his hands grazing over the pale, exposed flesh with a hunger he couldn't satisfy. He finally settled on rubbing at Bill's nipples, making the little nubs of flesh stand out hard and pink. Bill moaned, arching in Tom's grasp and pulling at his hair. Tom's mouth tumbled down Bill's cheek and neck in a series of sloppy, hurried kisses and branded Bill's pounding pulse with his tongue.

Bill moaned louder, his body shivering, “Tom. ..Oh. . .oooohhh. . .”

Tom reached down to pull at Bill's belt, desperate to get his beautiful love child naked and spread out before his eyes. His trembling fingers finally managed to get the fly unzipped and he hooked his fingers underneath the pants and Bill's boxers. With one swift tug, he dragged the material down, letting Bill's pulsing cock spring free. Tom sank to his knees in front of Bill, his hands stroking along the lines of Bill's hipbones and then down his thighs and butt cheeks. Bill shivered, leaning heavily against the door as Tom licked a long, hot stripe along his shaft.

“Ooh, Tom. ..” He managed, breathlessly, his hand sliding into the loose strands of hair at the back of Tom's head.

Tom licked his way up to the head and drew it into his mouth, moaning unintelligibly as the taste of flesh and arousal exploded across his taste buds. Bill was so hot for him already, he could feel the slick pre-cum gathering at his tip, producing more each time Tom sucked it away.

Bill began to quake consistently in Tom's grasp, one hand squeezing Tom's hair, the other groping along the wall for support. His hips moved in tight little circles, pumping his cock in and out of Tom's eager mouth.

“T-tom. . .” He gasped, his hips arching when Tom's tongue drew back to tickle at the tiny, wet opening, “Please. . .oohh. . .please. ..”

“Mmm.” Tom moaned an affirmative, sucking the long, hot flesh back into his mouth.

He had never given a blowjob to another man before last night, but he was sure his eagerness more than made up for his inexperience. He knew what he liked, how he enjoyed being touched, and so far, Bill wasn't responding negatively. He wanted Bill to cum just like this, falling apart against Tom's mouth.

“Your. . .your hand. . .” Bill panted, groping for Tom's arm.

Tom quickly extended his hand and wrapped it around the thick, throbbing shaft. He tugged all along the aching column, following the rhythm of his mouth. He sucked and licked torridly, making Bill's entire cock wet with saliva and arousal and his hand was dragging through the sticky mess. Bill moaned loudly, his hips jumping forward each time Tom's hand jacked him and his mouth sucked. He was shuddering and leaning hard against the door when he came, his body straining and his hips bucking wildly. He cried out again, his voice hoarse with pleasure. Grabbing at Tom's hair, he held on tight and writhed desperately until the climax withered.

Tom managed to draw back just as the climax hit and cupped Bill's cockhead, smothering the explosion of cum into his palm. It spilled past his fingers, dribbling in hot streams down the back of his hand and his wrist in a way that made Tom's stomach clench with need.

Bill let out a heavy sigh and slid down to the floor on his butt. He looked up at Tom with pleasure-glazed eyes and made a satisfied moaning sound.

Tom slid his hands around Bill's waist and dragged him up onto his lap, “Good?”

“Mmm.” Bill nodded, dropping his forehead onto Tom's shoulder.

“Come on.” Tom murmured, “Let's find the bed.”

He slid his hands under Bill's butt and rose to his feet. Bill wrapped his legs around Tom's waist and clung to him tightly as Tom carried him to the bedroom. Tom deposited Bill on the sheets and stood back to strip out of his clothing. Bill followed suit, wriggling out of his shirt and pants, and stretching out across the bed in naked, flushed glory. Tom approached the bed, one hand absently touching his hard dick as he knelt between Bill's parted thighs. Bill's dark eyes were round, and the color was high on his cheeks. He panted loudly, trying to soothe the way his heart was pounding out of control. Reaching out a trembling hand, he worked his fingers underneath Tom's so that he could clutch naked skin. Tom shuddered and leaned over Bill, propping himself on all fours. Bill's fingers cinched tighter around Tom's hard cock, giving a few, slow tugs. Tom's face twisted in pleasure, and his throat produced a low whine.

“Ooh. ..Oh, Bill. . .”

Bill's fingers began to work a little faster. His eyes were pinned on Tom's expression, watching the subtle changes when Bill's soft hand touched him just the right way. Bill dragged his thumb up to stroke the head, spreading around wetness and making Tom moan and tremble.

“God, yes. . .” Tom ground out.

He thrust his hips into the circle of Bill's hand, eager for the climax to come. He was already so hard and aching, in desperate need of the climax that had been niggling at the back of his mind since the tender kiss by the lake.

With his other hand, Bill reached down to gently cradle Tom's full, aching balls. The touch was light and feathery, hardly anything at all, but it made Tom's whole body lurch with desire. He gasped as the need to climax rapidly multiplied. Jutting hips hips forward, he managed to crack his eyes open a bit and gaze down at Bill in what he hoped was a pleading look. Below him, Bill was wide-eyed and flushed with excitement. Tom could read the blazing desire in the young man's eyes, the exhilaration of making Tom come. He easily read the desperate look in Tom's eyes and employed the strokes of his hand to go harder.

Moment's later, he was fondling Tom's balls with quick, efficient strokes, not too hard, not too soft. The sensitive flesh screamed with the need to come, but Tom held on to the feeling wanting to explode inside his chest. He could feel it throbbing inside him, hard, distinctive beats, felt the orgasm rushing in like the tide. It seemed to suspend him for long moments, breathless, never-ending seconds of desperation and clawing for gratification, until it burst like a dam inside him.

With a ragged cry, Tom's hips jerked forward with the force of climax. He came hard and fast, the spasms rocking him to the very core and ripping up through his chest, in a pleasurable and beautiful explosion. He barely managed to open his eyes as he ejaculated, watching as a huge load of cum sprayed across Bill's flawless, white chest and sprinkled his neck and face. Bill flinched, slamming his eyes shut, but panting in breathless exhilaration as Tom anointed him with release.

Panting for a proper breath, Tom fell to the side, landing in a boneless heap next to Bill. Bill looked over at him, wiping at his face with one hand while he giggled uncontrollably.

Tom bit back a smile, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . I wasn't really aiming for . . .”

“Don't!” Bill laughed, shaking his head, “Don't even apologize. My face will never be the same, but in a good way, right?”

Tom felt a frown flicker on his brow. Being a straight man all his life, he had never seen the appeal in receiving a load of cum on his face, though he had entertained the fantasy of doing it to someone else. The fact that Bill was okay with the sex act only made it hotter, like a guilty pleasure Tom was now allowed to appreciate.

“What?” Bill's laughter faded.

“Nothing.” Tom shrugged. He leaned over and placed a firm kiss on Bill's forehead, “I just don't see how someone else hasn't claimed you by now.”

Bill glanced away, blushing, “Well, that's not exactly-”

“It is.” Tom insisted, reaching over to cup his cheek, “It's true. You're perfect.”

Bill blinked hard, and Tom watched the boy's lower lip begin to quiver hard. His eyes grew glossy and he ducked his head, hiding it in Tom's chest.

“Don't cry . . .” Tom said, crestfallen.

Bill curled up closer to his chest and wrapped one long, thin arm around Tom's middle. He held on tight, mumbling, “No one says that stuff to me, Tom.”

“Well, they should.” Tom said, placing a hand on Bill's soft, mussed hair.

Bill sniffed quietly, and lifted his head. His eyes were wet and big, his cheeks still flushed from their romping. With his disheveled hair and naked body, he looked delectable. Tom wanted another taste, but he immediately gave himself a strict 'no.' He had already gone too far – way too far. There really wasn't any going back from what they had already done, but Tom wondered if he should stop it here. In a month, Bill would be gone. . . God knew they could be discovered before that. It was precarious, and yet, Tom couldn't find it within his heart to be afraid of the possibilities.

“I mean no one.” Bill whispered, biting his lip, anxiously, “Why did I find the perfect person, but he's so many miles from my home? It's not fair.”

“We'll find a way.” Tom said it confidently, but he wasn't so sure.

Their lives were so different, not only separated by distance, but also by class, status, and money. There would be no other way for their paths to cross in the future. Their worlds were entirely separate, but somehow, they fit together like puzzle pieces. Bill was right; it really wasn't fair.

They lay together in pleasured bliss for several more moments before Tom grudgingly whispered that they should get up and get themselves cleaned. They still had the day's activities and dinner before them. What Tom really wanted was to stay here with Bill; forever.

 

 


	12. Someone To Watch Over Me

Day 8

 

Tuesday dawned with thick moisture in the air, overcast with dark, blue clouds that indicated a thunderstorm later that day.

Bill lounged in bed much longer than usual, hardly able to pull himself from the warm, cozy confines of his bed. He could see the dreary day it was shaping up to be outside, and the thought of getting poured on, on his way to lunch didn't seem appealing. Despite the progress he and Tom's relationship had made, he suddenly felt more uncomfortable than ever before. Where things between them had once been moving at a snail's pace, they were now accelerating as fast as a runaway train. It was as if a dam had broken the night of the dance, and all of their pent up emotions and desires had come rushing out. Now they couldn't stop.

What made the whole situation worse was that Bill knew he would have to return to L.A. in only nineteen days. He had begun to mark down each passing day on the calendar, keeping in mind how many days he and Tom had. To some people, nineteen days seemed like forever, but to Bill, they were precious few seconds he could enjoy before returning to his old life. The thought was horribly depressing, and though it should have motivated him to get up and spend as much time with Tom as he could, lying in bed and moping about it almost seemed better.

At last, when Bill knew he wouldn't make it to lunch before the mess hall closed if he didn't get up soon, he dragged himself out of bed. He ran through the shower, skipping his routine of masturbating, and dressed dully in dark wash jeans and a black t-shirt. He stomped into his biker boots and headed out the door without even attempting to style his hair.

When he walked into the mess hall, most everyone was scraping their plates clean and getting ready to go on with the day. Bill's eyes immediately went to the biggest table, where Tom always sat, and was crushed to see that the rancher was not there. With trepidation, he also realized that Natalie was also absent from the head of the table.

Bill managed to flag down one of the wait staff and secure a plate of food before the carts carrying lunch were whisked back into the kitchen. He found a mostly empty table to sit at and quietly ate his lunch, ignoring the other two people at the table.

He was beginning to seriously pout and gripe in his head about having missed Tom at lunch when he heard the sound of agitated voices behind him. Normally, Bill didn't give a shit about people fighting with each other, but his ears quickly detected the sound of Dirk McAllister's snobbish, irritating voice.

Bill whipped his head around to see the tall teen leaning over a girl who was seated at the table over. His friends were surrounding him like vultures, ready to consume the young lady's fear and hurt. The girl being harassed had long, brunette hair, pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore an ugly patterned dress. With a sigh, Bill realized she was a part of the church group, and Dirk was dangling her Bible in front of her, just out of her reach.

“You want it?” Dirk was taunting, “Why don't you ask Jesus to get it for you?”

“Give it back!” The girl cried, on the verge of tears, “Please!”

“Say a little prayer and maybe I will, Amish.” Dirk laughed, lifting the Bible even higher.

“Just give it back!” The young lady pleaded, “I didn't do anything to you!”

Bill watched, feel his irritation begin to simmer, building to angry boil. His day was starting out like shit, and he knew what it was like to be bullied by Dirk. He didn't particularly care about Jesus and the gospel, but Dirk was being ridiculously cruel to the poor girl, who was probably too sheltered to realize Dirk was never going to give her her Bible back.

Without giving another second's hesitation, Bill kicked his chair back and spun around. He stormed over to the other table and snatched the Bible right out of Dirk's hand, while the other teen wasn't looking.

“Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole, Dirk?” He snapped, clutching the Bible tightly to his chest, “The girl said she didn't do anything to you!”

“What the fuck?” Dirk exploded, “Trumper, you dumbass, get out of here before I kick your ass again!”

“Go away, and stop bullying this girl.” Bill insisted, “Or I'm going to tell Miss Franz what you're doing, and Mr. Kaulitz too.”

“Ooh, I'm scared.” Dirk mimed shaking in his boots, “You think I should be intimidated because you're fucking that cowboy?”

Bill felt a knot form in his throat and his face flush red, but he tried to hide the impact Dirk's statement had on him. He couldn't let anyone know that it was the truth.

“I'm not fucking him. We're just friends.” Bill replied, “Do you have to see dicks in everything?”

“There's gonna be one in your-”

“Dirk.” The girl standing next to Dirk stopped the enraged young man before he could blurt out a dangerous threat, “Let's just go. Amish isn't worth it.”

“Get the fuck off, Julia.” Dirk wrenched his arm out of the girl's grasp. He turned back to Bill, pointing a finger in his face, “I'm gonna let this one slide, Trumper, but next time, you might not be so lucky.”

Bill rearranged his face into a convincing smirk, “Go fuck your dog, Dirk.”

Dirk's face grew an even brighter shade of red. He reached out and gave Bill a shove, “Go fuck your mom.”

He turned and stomped off, calling to his friends to follow him. Bill shook his head as they walked away, in disbelief that anyone could be so stupid and mean all at once.

He turned and gave the quiet girl her Bible back, “Here, I think this is yours.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, grabbing the Bible and hugging it to her chest.

“If they bother you again, you need to tell Miss Franz.” Bill said, “He's already in trouble with her, so it won't take much convincing for her to kick him out.”

She nodded, “Thank you.”

He shrugged, “Yeah, sure.”

He turned to walk away, but the girl suddenly rose from the table, “Hey, wait.”

He stopped with a sigh and turned back around, “Yeah?”

“What's your name? . . .You kinda saved me there, and I don't even know who you are.” She gave a forced laugh.

“It's Bill.”

“I'm Sarah.” She stepped forward and held out her hand, “Thank you for helping me, Bill.”

He frowned at her hand, then quickly shook it. He half expected it to be rough, or sweaty, but her palm was quite cool and dry. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“It's okay.” He shrugged, “He's an asshole anyway.”

She bit her lip, fighting a little smile, “Yeah he is . . .”

“You can say it.” Bill said, “He's an asshole, Sarah. I don't think even God could disagree with that.”

She smiled, then lifted her shoulders, “Well, God made him, so I'm sure He can take care of him too.”

Bill shook his head, “I believe in karma. It works faster.”

She frowned a little bit, but smiled anyway, “Don't you believe in God?”

“I used to.” Bill replied, “Then He quit listening.”

“God never stops listening.” She disagreed, “Sometimes you just have to pray harder, listen harder . . .”

“Oh, I've prayed.” Bill gave a snort, “Shit doesn't work.”

She frowned deeper, “Well, I believe it does, because I've seen God answer prayers a lot of times. And God cares about everyone; even you, Bill.”

Bill raised his eyebrows, amused, but slightly touched by the determination in her naïve statement. It was almost cute, how insistent she was on this God thing.

“You can't think of anything good in your life that God's done for you?” She asked, tilting her head to one side.

Bill shrugged and shook his head. He had thought about it a lot when he was younger, crying all alone in his room at night, trying to hide from his parents what was happening. He'd cried out for God to help him, but He never came. The pain never ended until they moved to L.A., and even then, he hadn't escaped the torture of being an outcast, being bullied by people like Dirk McAllister. God hadn't done shit for him.

“There has to be something.” She said, softly.

“I only have one good thing in my life.” Bill replied, “And it happened by accident.”

Uncomfortable with the conversation, Bill gave her a wave and said, “Look, I can't stick around. I'm out.”

He turned and walked away before she could try to convince him one more time that God had brought Tom into his life as some sort of salvation. Because when Bill really gave his situation an unbiased look, it seemed that divine intervention really had brought him to the Miranda to save his heart before it finally shattered under the pressure.

 

~

 

Tom was disappointed to have missed Bill during lunch, and he was helplessly distracted during his midday meeting with Natalie. She had to rouse him from far off thoughts more than once, her expression growing more frustrated each time he ignored her.

Tom was relieved that she didn't push him to tell her what was on his mind. When the meeting was finally over, he escaped the office, feeling as if the noose had finally left his neck. He was free to go and find Bill.

It didn't take much searching to locate Bill. Tom entered the horse barn, ears straining for a hint of sound. He nearly stopped walking all together when he heard a beautiful, soft tune drifting down the corridors. The voice was young and high, like a wind chime that barely tickled Tom's ears. A smile played across his lips as he stood and listened for several moments while Bill was unaware that he had an audience. The song ended too quickly, with a high, piercing note that made Tom's heart squeeze in adoration. He resumed his walk down the corridor, until he found Bill in Prissy's stall, brushing her coat with dedication.

“You never told me you could sing.” Tom said, softly, as he leaned against the doorway.

Bill gasped and spun around, nearly dropping the brush, “Tom, you scared me!”

Tom smiled, “Sorry. But you seemed so lost in thought, I didn't want to disturb you before I had to.”

Bill shrugged and stared hard at the brush in his hands, “There's a lot to think about.”

A frown flickered across Tom's brow, and he pushed away from the doorframe. Laying a soft hand on Bill's shoulder, he asked, “What's wrong?”

Bill pursed his lips and seemed to struggle with the explanation before he managed, “Everything.”

Tom felt his heart sink, “Did something happen? Is it your parents again? Did Peter yell at you?”

“No, no.” Bill sighed, “Nothing like that . . .”

Tom was relieved to have ruled those things out, but he was still extremely concerned by the sorrowful look on Bill's face. He pulled the boy around by his slender shoulders and looked into Bill's big, mournful eyes, “Talk to me.”

Bill swallowed hard and glanced away, “It's just that, in a month, I'll never see you again.”

Tom felt a shaft of pain go through his heart, like a cruel knife trying to tear open old wounds, and fresh ones. He drew Bill into his arms and crushed him in a tight embrace. Bill breathed unsteadily into Tom's chest and wrapped his arms around Tom's middle, clinging as if his life depended on it. They hugged like this for several long minutes before Tom drew back, cradling Bill's cheek in his hand.

“You know, before I met you, I'd almost given up on finding someone I could really care about.” Tom whispered, sincerely, “I thought I would be alone for the rest of my life . . . I haven't had a reason to fight for something so strongly in years. But I'm willing to fight for this.”

Tom's heart felt words only seemed to make Bill's tattered emotions rend wider. His face twisted and tears glistened in his eyes.

“You've only known me for a week, Tom.” He sobbed, “How can you say these things to me?”

“Look,” Tom took both Bill's cheeks in his hand and spoke firmly, “Some things are meant to be, Bill. And yes, I've only known you for a week, but my heart tells me, it is meant to be. Do you hear me?”

Bill nodded, weakly, sniffing back tears, “Yes, Tom.”

“Don't give up yet.” Tom added, softer this time, his thumbs stroking away tears on Bill's cheeks, “Please, don't give up.”

“Okay.” Bill whispered, his voice small and tearful.

Tom sighed and hugged Bill close, running fingers through his long, silky hair, “I'm sorry. You must be so scared.”

Bill curled his fingers around Tom's shirt, “Scared I'll leave here and never feel the way I do right now ever again.”

Tom shook his head, “You're too young for this. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not too young.” Bill insisted, lifting his head, “I know what I'm feeling, Tom. It's real!”

“It is.” Tom agreed, “But I shouldn't expect so much.”

Bill wiped his eyes, and gave a quiet laugh, “Always the gentleman.”

Tom returned his smile and drew his fingertips across Bill's cheek, “Of course. Look, don't worry about anything. Whatever it is, I'll take care of it.”

“You'll protect me?” Bill whispered, lashes blinking rapidly.

Suddenly, he looked far too innocent to have done the kind of acts with Tom that they had performed the last few days.

Tom bent to press a kiss to Bill's forehead, “Always.”

 

~

 

The next few days, rain rolled in to dampen the spirit of the ranch. While everyone else assembled in the rec hall to play indoor games like charades and crafts, Tom and Bill crept away to the privacy of Tom's cabin.

It was damp spring rain, not too cold, but heavy enough to keep everyone inside. Tom left the window of his bedroom cracked halfway open to allow the soothing sound of rainfall and the sweet, rich scent of the spring storm to mingle with their sounds of passion and the heady smell of sweat and release.

They lay in a mass of boneless limbs, flesh still flushed from recent climaxes, both breathing hard. Tom wiped his come stained hand carelessly on the sheets and gathered Bill into his arms. He pressed his nose to the boy's hair and breathed in deeply, enjoying the familiar and unique scent of his lover. Bill turned his face upward to Tom's questing mouth, and their lips joined in a slow, intimate dance, tongues and saliva passing back and forth.

As the kiss broke, Bill gave a quavering exhale and looked up at Tom with big, blinking eyes, “Tom?”

“Yeah?” Tom asked, toying with a strand of Bill's hair.

“When will you . . . you know . . ?”

Tom frowned, anticipating Bill's question, but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

Bill flushed a little and ducked his head, “I mean, are we going to actually . . . do it?”

Tom felt his stomach drop and his heart begin to beat in an unusual fluttering rhythm. He looked away, mind racing for an answer. Of course, he had thought about really having sex with Bill – no, he had thought about it _a lot._ But, fantasizing and actually doing something were not the same thing. He was infinitely concerned for Bill's welfare, because in all honesty, Tom didn't really know what he was doing when it came to gay sex, and he had no idea if Bill's body was ready to handle it.

But even more than that, he knew consummating their relationship in the most technical way, would seal their fate. There would be no going back. Tom was holding onto the last threads of his sanity by that little fact, tricking himself into believing that just because they weren't having sex, meant that his heart wouldn't get crushed when Bill eventually had to leave. Fooling around, jacking each other off and giving blowjobs was simple, almost juvenile. It was no-strings-attached; they were just having fun. But Tom knew, the moment his cock slipped inside the hot embrace of Bill's body, he would be done for. All the emotions and feelings he had been keeping inside would come spewing forth, and he might say something ridiculously stupid. Something like . . . “I love you.”

“I'm . . . I'm sorry.” Bill muttered, rolling out of Tom's arms and sitting up, “I shouldn't push you.”

“Wait, don't go.” Tom sat up quickly and reached for Bill's hand, “I'm sorry.”

Bill turned to look at him, his brow drawn, “Do you not want to? I mean, am I not good enough? Are you worried about being gay?”

“No, no.” Tom shook his head frantically, “Nothing like that. Don't ever think you're not good enough.”

Tom reeled Bill in, dragging him across the bed so that he could cradle Bill's petite body in his lap like a baby. He looked down at Bill's worried expression and added, “In fact, you probably deserve better.”

Bill blinked rapidly and looked away, flustered, “I don't know about that . . .”

“It's true.” Tom insisted, “You're a good kid.”

Bill looked as if he were going to protest again, but with a warning glare from Tom, he swallowed the argument and whispered, “Okay.”

“It's not you at all.” Tom sighed, “It's me. I'm just . . . I'm worried _I'm_ not good enough. You know, I've never . . . had sex with a guy before.”

“It's not that hard.” Bill replied, “You need two things – lube, and patience.”

Tom raised his brows.

“If you finger me long enough, I can take your cock easily.” Bill explained with a knowing smile.

“Well . . .” Tom gave an embarrassed cough into the back of his hand.

Bill patted his chest and smiled, “And if you don't believe me, there's always internet research. It will shock you what kind of enlightening results you get when you type 'anal sex' into a search engine.”

They both began to laugh, and the tension broke like a twig snapping. They didn't talk about it any more that day, but Tom could feel the topic lingering in the air between them. Bill was a determined kid, and Tom wasn't surprised he was willing to fight for intercourse. It was, of course, the logical conclusion after so many manual and oral sessions. Tom himself was not turned off to the idea of having sex with Bill – quite the opposite. He was simply concerned with his lack of knowledge, and their limited time together. Then, he recalled their conversation in the barn, and he realized, he had to give this to Bill. If they were only happy together for a short period of time, it was best to enjoy the relationship to it's fullest. Tom didn't want to spend their short month together weighed down by fear.

So, even though he knew Bill had been half joking, he found himself sitting down at his laptop only a day later to type in 'anal sex' to Google. He got a million results, but only clicked on the hits listed on the first page. Some results were clinical and informative, while others ranged from graphic, to unbelievable, to silly, to embarrassing. Tom rapidly backed out of the sites that led to pornography, hoping to stick with the articles that were serious about informing the less knowledgeable.

He read about locating the prostate, giving rim jobs, fisting, utilizing the perineum, literal intercourse, and half a dozen other things he could have lived his life without knowing. But it all came back to the two things Bill had told him – lube and patience.

Tom shut his laptop and rested his chin on his hands. He gazed out his cabin window, across the yard, where the guest cabins were located, and thought about Bill. He realized that, while he may be scared, he really did want this.

 

 


	13. Guardian

Day 10

 

Thursday morning at breakfast, Natalie announced the weekly camping trip that Tom and Randy led. The outing would last from Friday afternoon through Sunday morning, during which participants would ride horseback across different locations on the Miranda and spend Friday night in tents. Saturday would be spent practicing different out door activities. They would visit the shooting range, take hikes, go fishing, and jump in the waterfall that Tom had already shown Bill.

Bill was not particularly excited about going on the trip because he really hated the outdoors. Hiking wasn't his thing, fishing was just plain dumb, and socializing was difficult. The only thing Bill was happy about was spending every waking moment with Tom without enduring scrutiny for it; he was also more than a little pleased that Dirk would not be going, since he had been banned from this week's group activities.

When Natalie finished her speech, Bill glanced over at Tom and murmured, “So who's supervising? Just you and Randy?”

Tom nodded, “Yep.”

“So, if I stole you away for a few moments, Randy could still chaperon?” Bill asked, lightly, arching an inquisitive brow.

Tom blushed slightly and faced his food with utmost focus.

Bill chuckled and twirled a strand of hair about his index finger, “I can't wait.”

Tom's eyes flicked over to Bill, reprimanding, but aroused nonetheless.

Bill shrugged and coyly bit his lower lip. Blinking his lashes as innocently as possible, he picked up his hotdog and slowly guided it into his mouth. Tom's eyes widened a bit, and his cheeks stained a darker pink.

“Bill,” He murmured, “Didn't your mother teach you not to play with your food?”

Bill smirked and chewed thoughtfully on his bite of hotdog, “She did, but I like playing with things.”

Tom bit at his lower lip and looked away, flustered by Bill's flirting. Bill glanced down, trying to see past Tom's arm and into his lap. The bulge wasn't completely evident, but to Bill's prying eyes, it was enough. He almost lost his appetite for lunch thinking about sucking on Tom's meat instead.

“Anything you two would like to share?”

Bill jerked his head up when Peter's voice interrupted the private flirtation. He sent the older man a glare and sank back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Nothing you would know about, Peter.” He replied, acidly.

“Seems pretty important.” Peter replied with a rather fake smile.

“Not to you.” Bill mumbled, keeping his eyes low, on his plate and his arms firmly over his chest.

“Just wondered. I haven't been seeing much of you lately.” Peter said.

“I've been out doing activities. Making friends like my mom said.” Bill explained.

“Yeah, he's doing great with his riding lessons.” Tom interjected with a convincing smile and genial tone.

Peter's mouth drew into a firm line while he assessed both his young charge and the charismatic rancher. Tom could tell the nanny didn't believe either one of them, but he had no proof to argue otherwise.

When lunch concluded, Peter caught Bill before he and Tom could run out the door.

“I imagine you'll be going on this camping trip.” Peter pressed.

Bill shrugged Peter's hand off his shoulder and stepped closer to Tom, “Of course. I thought Gordon might belt me if I didn't.”

Peter sighed, “Then we'll have to do the video conference tonight.”

“What? No.” Bill argued, feeling his stomach drop.

He had nearly forgotten about the whole dumb idea of Skypeing his parents every Friday to report his progress. He had been so wrapped up in his new found adoration of Tom that the anger and pain from the last video session had nearly left his memory.

“Yes, we have to.” Peter argued, gently, “It's what your parents want.”

“Can't you just write a report and tell them.” Bill snapped, “Since I'm being shipped off like every other problem they have?”

“Bill,” Peter chided, exasperated, “your mom and Gordon care about you very much. They were hoping to help you by sending you here.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.” Bill said, pointing a condemning finger at Peter's chest.

Peter raked a hand through his hair, “I'm sorry, Bill, but I don't have the power to change this. We're doing the conference tonight after dinner. No arguments, and don't be late.” His eyes snapped briefly to Tom's, holding a fierce warning, “Good day, Mr. Kaulitz.”

Peter left the mess hall at a stiff, but rapid pace, pushing the door open forcefully and disappearing into the lobby.

Bill let out a loud sigh, “Sometimes I really hate my parents and business. It's all they fucking care about.”

“Bill,” Tom said, his voice low, “Is it true?”

Bill stiffened and glanced over at Tom's somber expression, “Is what true?”

“About Gordon.” Tom supplied, then gave Bill a warning look, “You know what I mean.”

Bill swallowed hard and looked down at the scuffed toes of his biker boots. He hadn't meant to let the comment about Gordon belting him slip; he'd just been so pissed at Peter about the stupid video conference that he hadn't been reminding himself, as he usually was, to not allow Tom to know to many personal details. Especially about his mom and Gordon.

“I was just over exaggerating.” Bill mumbled, shifting back and forth uncomfortably.

“Come on.” Tom said, putting a hand on his back, “Let's go out to the barn and talk.”

Bill resisted and looked up at Tom with pleading eyes, “Do we have to?”

“This really worries me.” Tom freely admitted, with a deep frown on his brow, “Even if I can't do anything about it, I want to be there for you and support you.”

“Don't make it sound like I'm some sort of abused, neglected child.” Bill said, sharply, “I'm not helpless, Tom. Do you know how many times I've fought back?”

“So it is true.” Tom nailed him with an intense look that brooked no further lies or arguments.

Bill sighed and noticed the familiar press of hot tears behind his eyelids. He hated talking about it, especially to someone he cared about. He didn't want to look like a victim. He didn't want Tom to pity him. Hell, he didn't want pity from anyone.

“That is wrong, Bill.” Tom said, his tone strident with righteous anger, “That man should not be allowed to get away with hitting you just because he has some money and power.”

“I don't want to talk about it here.” Bill said, quietly.

He turned and headed for the door, blinking back enraged, ashamed tears. No one knew about the abuse, at least not anyone that would tell the authorities. He didn't tell his friends, his counselors, or teachers. No one. Because he knew Gordon would find a way to have it covered up, and Bill would only get whipped harder for spilling the truth to a stranger. But more than the fear of further abuse was the humiliation he suffered. He was a grown boy, seventeen years old. Practically an adult now, with enough years behind him to make his own decisions and completely own his body. With Gordon, however, it seemed that he was just a child, making all the wrong decisions, and back-talking whenever possible. Then it was back to his bedroom, laying across the mattress, his pants crumpled at his feet while the belt whistled through the air behind him, doling out lashing after painful lashing.

It had been a long time since he had cried about the pain. It hurt like hell, but he was done sniveling and whining like a little child. He could take as many as Gordon could give. But the shame of knowing he would never be his own man, never be old enough to get out from under his parents' authority – at least in their eyes – haunted him each and every day.

Bill walked in a blind tangle of emotions to the barn, followed closely by Tom. He threw the door out of his way and stomped down the aisle, hardly seeing where he was going. He could hear his loud, angry breaths in the silence, the blood rushing like thunder through his ears. He kept walking, boots pounding against the wood floor, until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Tom pulled him around, clasping the back of his head and dragging him into a secure embrace. Oh, how Bill just wanted to sink into those warm, safe, loving arms and never return home. How he wanted to cry into Tom's chest until the other man's shirt was soaked through. How he wanted to let all his sorrow drain into Tom's safe hands, and sob like the pathetic child he really was.

With a growl, Bill pounded his fists against Tom's chest, breaking himself free of the embrace.

“Get off!” He cried, “I am not a child! I don't need you to come to the rescue every time you find out something bad has happened to me! Because, you know what, Tom? It's never going to be over! This -” He gestured wildly to his frazzled state “- is what you get! I am like life's little punching bag, and whenever life get's pissed off, it comes and kicks me in the face for the fun of it!”

“Bill, stop.” Tom's voice was calm. He held his hand out, not touching Bill, but waiting for Bill to accept the caress. It was as if he were soothing a wild, unbroken horse, teaching it to trust him.

“I'm sick of everyone treating me like a little kid. I'm not stupid, Tom. I can make my own decisions.” Bill continued, red-faced and trembling with anger, “I didn't choose to come here, but I chose to be with you. I-I did that . . .” Bill stuttered at the end, losing his breath as his throat tightened with fresh emotion, “Why should they be able to take it away? Why, Tom?”

“Bill, darling, please. . .” Tom extended both arms, “Come here, baby.”

Bill gazed at the offered embrace for only a few more moments before he slowly walked back into the embrace. Tom wrapped his arms tightly around Bill and patted the back of his head. Bill swallowed back emotion and closed his eyes, trying to breathe right. He knew he shouldn't have blown up on Tom the way he did. Tom hadn't done anything at all, but care. For someone to care was all Bill had ever wanted, and now he was pushing it away. God, how stupid.

“I'm sorry.” Tom whispered, his voice ragged with empathy, “I'm so sorry.”

Bill sniffed quietly and hugged Tom close, “You're right.”

Tom drew back and stroked Bill's cheek, “About Gordon?”

Bill lowered his eyes and nodded.

“Isn't there something you could do?” Tom asked, sincerely, “Doesn't your mother know?”

“She knows.” Bill said, icily, “But she cares more about him than me.”

“That's wrong.” Tom shook his head, “The authorities should be informed.”

Bill shook his head, “Gordon has enough money and influence to get out of shit like that. Nobody is going to believe me over him anyways. I'm just the rebellious emo kid that won't listen to authority.” He gave a snort, “They would probably tell him he's doing the right thing 'disciplining' me.”

Tom placed his hands over Bill's cheek and pressed their foreheads together, “I hate feeling this helpless. I wish I could do something, anything . . .”

“Can you make it so that I stay here with you forever?” Bill whispered.

Tom gave a defeated sigh, “I wish.”

Bill tilted his head so that their lips met at a perfect, deeply joined angle. The kiss was soft and slow, heat and tension building between them at a steady undercurrent. Their lips caressed for several long moments until Bill arched his tongue forward, pressing past Tom's teeth. Tom's own tongue quested forward and they met, swirling and stroking with growing need. Tom's hands slid down Bill's back, feeling out the curve of his spine until he reached the tiny, but flared hips. Squeezing firmly, he dragged Bill's hips against his own and ground their crotches together, kindling need with the friction.

Their mouths parted, and Bill gave a gasp, “Oh, Tom . . .”

Tom kneaded Bill's hips in his big, warm hands and dragged his mouth hotly against Bill's ear, “God, I want you. . .”

“Yes, I don't want to think about my parents anymore.” Bill agreed, haltingly, “Please, Tom.”

Tom drew back, groaning, “Not here.”

“I don't want to wait.” Bill whined, clinging to Tom's shirt, white-knuckled.

Tom glanced up and down the empty aisle, a mixture of fear and racing need clutching him inside. God, he wanted to slam Bill down right here and take him, but their chances of being caught in such an open location were far too high.

“Tom, please.” Bill urged, pressing his body as close to Tom's as he could.

Tom suppressed another loud groan when he felt their erections grind together, barely concealed by denim. They were both hot and hard for each other, and really not in the mood to make the walk all the way too Tom's cabin. Add their limited time together because of Tom's duties and the video conference tonight, and wasting more precious moments just wasn't acceptable.

Tom tilted his head back, trying to talk himself out of a terribly bad idea. He cracked his eyes open when Bill's gyrating hips began to press more urgently, and his gaze drifted across the rafters, then the ladder that led up to the loft . . .

Tom pulled back, clutching Bill's upper arm with a firm hand. Without explaining, he practically dragged Bill across the barn to the ladder.

“Go.” Tom said, roughly, guiding Bill to the ladder.

Without argument, Bill grabbed onto the wood slats and began a quick ascent to the loft. Tom followed close behind, his heart and groin throbbing in sync. It had been a long time since he had been this horny for someone, about _anything_ really. Each time the need presented itself in the form of Bill's long, lithe body, however, he couldn't resist the urge to take until he was satisfied.

Bill scrambled into the loft on his hands and knees, and quickly turned over. He scooted backwards on his butt into a bed of hay and cast Tom his most effective, seductive gaze. With his dark hair hanging over one eye, and his lips pouting, just waiting to be cleaved by Tom's hard cock, he reached down and stroked himself through straining jeans.

“Fuck . . .” Tom mumbled, brain completely glazed over with desire.

He stumbled into the loft and fell to his knees in front of Bill. His fingers laced into thick strands of hair and he pulled Bill's head back forcefully. Their mouths joined again, this time with Tom's mouth controlling the kiss. He bent over Bill, his thighs snug against Bill's chest so that Bill's legs were spread wide to accommodate Tom's body. Tom grasped Bill's jaw with his other hand, holding Bill firmly in place while he ravaged the boy's mouth with passionate kisses and intermittent nibbles with his teeth. Bill groaned into his mouth, and squirmed, trying to get free and unclothe himself. Tom lingered with the kiss, drawing Bill's saliva into his mouth in exchange for his own, and swirling his tongue all around the inside of Bill's compliant mouth.

Bill tore his mouth away, panting, “I need you . . .”

“Don't worry, baby,” Tom murmured, while his hands glided down to lift the hem of Bill's t-shirt, “I'm gonna take good care of you.”

The shirt came off over Bill's head with a tug, and Bill laid back against the bed of hay. His slender chest was rising and falling quickly, and his eyes shone with desire. He raised his arms over his head and jutted his hips upward, causing his cock to tent the material of his pants.

Tom grabbed onto the thick, silver belt buckle that acted like a mirror to his frantically aroused expression. He managed to get the belt open and the jeans halfway down Bill's legs before Bill started kicking the restrictive fabric away. The jeans finally came free and were flung a yard away from them in a crumpled heap. Before Bill could go further, Tom descended on him, grasping the hard, hot rod of flesh through the tiny, spandex boxers. The plain white boxers were stretched taut across Bill's erection, and clearly showed the moist patch forming where his head leaked pre-cum.

Bill released a low cry as Tom firmly massaged the flesh through the skin tight material, rubbing the spandex mercilessly against the aching flesh.

“Ahh . . . oh god . . .” Bill gasped, hips arching up against Tom's downward strokes.

His eyes were wild and glassy with need, and his nails dug into Tom's arm that pumped his hand up and down. Tom fed his own arousal on the sounds of Bill's approaching climax and the wrecked look of pleasure on his face. Tom groaned a response to Bill's rapidly multiplying moans, and worked his fist harder, adding a twist of his wrist at the base.

Bill twisted against the hay, his eyes slamming shut, teeth clenching. He panted hard through his nostrils while his body writhed, trying to escape and accept the pleasure all at once.

“Tom, please . . .” He began to moan, planting a hand against Tom's chest, “Please . . . oh god, please. . .”

Tom's fist slowed, and he moved his fingertips to the waistband of the tight shorts. Bill swallowed against a dry throat, and eagerly nodded his head as Tom drew the material down, away from his throbbing cock. Tom bit back a groan as he laid eyes on the engorged flesh, lying thick and red against Bill's flat, pale stomach. The crevice at the tip was white with arousal, and heavily throbbing veins were evident through the thin veneer of flesh. Bill gave a whine and lifted his hips from the loft floor, begging Tom to continue.

Tom tugged the boxers all the way off Bill's legs and grasped Bill's inner thighs. He slowly spread them apart, and let his gaze run slowly, appreciatively down Bill's intimate parts. His hungry gaze slid down the hard shaft, and the smooth, heavy balls, and came to rest on the little hole barely concealed between his butt cheeks. Tom pressed Bill's legs farther up against his chest and lowered a hand to touch the tender, pink flesh. Bill gasped softly as Tom stroked his thumb across the little hole. He was fascinated when he pressed the tip of his thumb in harder and felt the muscles instantly constrict.

Tom lifted his eyes to Bill's expression, now frozen in shock and pleasure.

“Can I?” He murmured.

Bill swallowed hard, “Give me your hand.”

Tom hesitated for only a second before extending his hand to Bill. Bill's slim fingers surrounded Tom's wrist and drew his fingertips to the hot wetness of his mouth. Tom watched with widening eyes and growing arousal as Bill sucked his two fingers in. His cheeks and lips suctioned around Tom's fingers, and he drew them in and out, making them thoroughly wet. He let go with a quiet pop and pushed Tom's hand back down.

It was answer enough. Tom pressed his wet fingers against Bill's hole, stroking in a slow, soothing circle that made Bill's muscles relax for him. Bill let his head fall back against the hay, and he released a soft moan. Tom kept his gaze locked on Bill's expression, trying to gauge the amount of pleasure he was feeling, and sincerely hoping he wouldn't do something wrong.

Finally, Bill moaned, “Tom, do it. . .”

Tom drew in a deep breath and pressed his fingertip against Bill's entrance. The muscles were tight at first, but as Tom's finger went in, he felt Bill's hole accept all of it. His finger slid in to the knuckle, submerging itself in the moist, soft heat. Tom paused, choking on his own breath. He let his finger rest there, taking a second to relish the feeling of Bill's ass squeezing around his finger. The thought that it could be his dick soon only made the pleasure soar higher.

“Tom, please!” Bill insisted, stomping one foot against the floor.

Tom laid his other hand on Bill's knee and began to pump the other in and out of Bill's hole. He kept the pace slow and steady at first, knifing his finger into a channel of moist, incredibly smooth flesh. But soon, Bill was writhing and grinding his hips down against Tom's hand, begging for more.

“Faster . . .” Bill requested, his voice husky with pleasure.

Tom eagerly complied. He watched his finger disappear in and out of Bill's stretched, pink hole with mounting arousal. His head spun with uncontrollable need, and his groin was one big knot of desire, searching for any way of escape. Years of sexual frustration and celibacy were suddenly channeling from every exit point, like a flood hitting against the crumbling wall of the dam. Ever since that moment out by the lake, when they first kissed, his whole body had been hungry for it, losing the numbness he had felt for so long in exchange for burning, unquenchable lust. Now that he was actually penetrating Bill with his fingers, he knew he wouldn't be satisfied again until he had taken Bill completely, driving his hard cock deep into Bill's ass in the real act of sex.

Tom leaned over Bill's twisting, twitching body, watching in fascination as Bill's expressions of pleasure played rapidly across his face. His eyes were closed in concentration and there was a tiny crease between his brows. His jaw was firmly clenched, though his lips continued to tremble with little exclamations of pleasure. He dug his heels into the floor and clenched his fingers through bits of hay, searching desperately for his climax. Tom knew he had to be close now; his cock was stiff and leaking against his stomach, throbbing madly.

“Tom . . .” Bill gasped, his eyes cracking open a bit, “More . . . please more. . ..”

Tom's insides clenched hard, hearing Bill's ragged, lustful pleas. Suddenly the temperature in the barn seemed skyrocket, and Tom was sweating and panting with desire. He withdrew his fingers long enough to get his middle finger wet and press the two back into Bill's eagerly writhing body. He bit back a gasp as he felt the two slide into Bill's tight passage, and all the muscles clamped down, sucking them in. Bill whined louder, throwing his head back against the hay in a devastatingly beautiful display of pleasure. His feet kicked helplessly against the floor and his hands scrambled through the hay, searching for stability while Tom's fingers drove him crazy.

Pumping his fingers in and out, Tom began to search for the prostate, hoping he had done enough internet reading to make up for his inexperience. After several moments of probing, Bill stiffened, his back sharply arched.

“There. . . . there. . .” He gasped, eyelids fluttering open to look up at Tom.

Tom drew his fingers in a tight circle, nearly losing his breath as he felt the soft and swollen bit of flesh react under his touch. Bill bit hard at his lower lip and slammed his eyes shut once more. Breathing hard through his nostrils, he lay perfectly still while Tom rubbed at his prostate over and over again.

It wasn't long before he freed one hand from the hay to grab at his cock. Tom watched with wide eyes and madly throbbing arousal as Bill's long, white fingers surrounding his hard, red cock to bring himself to orgasm. His fist pumped steadily over the taut flesh until his body went rigid. Tom nearly choked with arousal as Bill's ass went so tight around his fingers that he couldn't move them back or forward. A white stream of release shot from Bill's cock, and landed in thick puddles on his stomach and chest, until it was running down his sides in excess. Bill's body bucked and writhed for several long moments, and his face twisted with intense pleasure until the climax faded.

Bill collapsed against the hay, breathing hard. He gave his dick a few final pulls to milk the last of his release out before his wet hand slid to the ground at his side.

Tom slowly withdrew his fingers, and glanced down at his hand, hardly believing what he had just done.

“You're good at that.” Bill whispered with a lazy smile.

Tom felt his cheeks color, “Well, I don't know about that . . .”

“I've been with other guys.” Bill admitted, quietly, “None of them ever did half of what you do to me.”

Tom couldn't help the smile growing on his face. He climbed up next to Bill and wrapped his arms around Bill's shoulders so that he could cuddle the boy to his chest.

“I promise to always treat you right.” He whispered, pressing a kiss the soft crown of Bill's head.

“You swear?” Bill whispered, his voice hardly audible.

“Yes, I swear.”

Bill snuggled closer, pressing his cheek against Tom's chest. Tom thought they were probably getting cum everywhere, but at the moment, he hardly cared. He just wanted to hold Bill like this forever.

The cuddling didn't last long. Bill reached down and began to tug on Tom's belt, working the buckle open so that his fingers could pull on the zipper. Tom didn't move until Bill was pulling his jeans and boxers down. Tom eagerly lifted his hips, and gave a delighted moan as his cock rose free from the confining denim.

Bill rose to his knees over Tom and pressed his fingertips into Tom's chest, until Tom reclined into the hay. His eyes were dark and alluring as he reached down to palm Tom's hard cock. The flesh instantly twitched against Bill's soft, gentle touch, the light, creamy caress Tom was already getting accustomed to. Tom released a breathy moan and pushed his hips up against Bill's hand, searching for a stronger touch.

Watching Tom intently, Bill drew his thumb back and forth across the head, pressing just hard enough at the crevice to make Tom squirm. The pad of his thumb dragged down over the rim to stroke against the central vein throbbing hotly along the underside. Tom clenched his teeth as an even louder moan bubbled up his throat and threatened to spill into the quiet of the barn. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the pleasure already welling low in his stomach. Bill's hand felt exquisite against his aching flesh, massaging the pleasure to it's peak with expert strokes. It was like heaven, and Tom wondered how he had ever survived before he met Bill.

Suddenly, just as Tom was beginning to sense the orgasm closing in, Bill's hand retreated, leaving his cock standing alone, red, throbbing, leaking. Tom began to whine a protest, but when his eyes snapped open, he saw Bill gathering his long, black hair back into a ponytail.

Tom's eyes widened. He knew what that action meant; every sexually active man knew what a ponytail meant.

Bill's expression was coy, eyes glinting, lower lip barely trapped by his teeth. He took Tom's cock at the base, wrapping his finger fully and firmly around the thick flesh and standing his cock upright from his body. Tom swallowed hard, his heart pounding uncontrollably as Bill slowly lowered his head to the full, oozing head. A gasp tore itself free from his lips with the simple stroke of Bill's tongue across the swollen flesh.

Bill glanced up at Tom, looking rather satisfied with himself and continued with several long licks over the head and down the shaft. Each one sent shudders deep into Tom's body and a jolt of pleasure through his cock. He instinctively reached down to grasp Bill's head, twisting his fingers into soft strands of loosely tied hair. Bill shifted closer, licked his lips and took Tom's cock into his mouth. Tom's hips jumped up from the floor and he let out a wavering cry of pleasure. Bill sucked in deep, allowing his saliva to swirl around Tom's cock, before he drew back. His lips popped off the head, and he brushed his lips back and forth across the slick knob, getting them all wet and swollen. He immediately pressed Tom's cock back in, submerging the throbbing flesh in the warm, wet embrace of Bill's mouth. It felt like slick velvet, wrapping him completely, stroking him. It was good, so good.

Bill rolled his lips over his teeth and began to bob his head over Tom's cock. The rhythm was quick and arousing, quickly fueling Tom's pleasure to greater heights. His body was stiff with pleasure under Bill's erotic ministrations, on the very edge of tilting over the pleasure line. He grasped Bill's hair tighter and tried to hang on to his dignity as Bill's lips and tongue quickly ushered him toward orgasm. Tom could feel it rising up inside him fast, all his muscles clamping down and spasming against his will. He wanted to stay, allow himself to relish the feeling of Bill sucking on him, but the pleasure was just too strong to handle.

He snapped under the pressure, giving a ragged cry, and a weak warning to Bill before the orgasm rushed in to claim him. Bill lifted his head at the last moment and used his hand to finish Tom off, though the pleasure was already unbearable. Tom twisted and moaned as he came hard, his thick, hot release spraying from his cock in long, gushing jets. The orgasm tore through him faster than a tornado, leaving his insides pleasantly weak and tingling.

Tom relaxed against the hay, trying to catch his breath. Above him, Bill smiled softly and tugged the band out of his hair. The long strands fell back down around his cheeks and shoulders, and Tom was once more struck by his beauty. He'd hardly worn any makeup today and any lip gloss was long gone after their fiery kisses and the blow job. He was completely naked in every way; he couldn't have looked more gorgeous.

“You're beautiful.” Tom murmured.

Bill bit back a smile and sank down into Tom's arms, “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Tom whispered into Bill's ear, “You're perfect.”

 

 


	14. Accelerate

 

Later that day, Bill and Tom were out in the corral, having riding lessons for real this time. After their time in the hay loft, Bill had related that he felt simply sick thinking about the video conference tonight. Tom took him out to the corral with Prissy, hoping to keep the boy's mind off of what would probably be a grueling interrogation with his mom and Gordon.

Bill was making steady round about the corral when a third person entered. Bill looked up when a heard another horse whinny from across the corral. His brow furrowed deeply when he saw Nora atop a tall, white mount. She handled the mare with ease, one hand delicately holding the reins while the other rested on her thigh. She trotted over to Bill, smiling warmly.

“Hey, Bill.”

“Hey, Nora.” He said, not at all disguising that he didn't want to see her.

Her smile faded a bit, but she guided her mount into step with Bill's and pushed on, “They're having karaoke tonight in the main house. I'm gonna sing Carrie Underwood.”

“Cool.” Bill muttered, though he thought hearing Nora try to sing Carrie would be anything but “cool.”

“You should come.” She suggested.

“I'd love to,” Bill said, tartly, “but my schedule's full.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced at Tom, who stood in the open doorway of the barn, saddling Tony, “With Tom?”

“No,” Bill said flatly, thinking with distaste of the dreaded video conference.

“Seems like all you do is hang out with him.” She observed, not sounding too happy, “What happened to being mad at him?”

“We made up.” Bill shrugged, hoping she would just ride off on her little white pony.

“I'm not judging,” She said, in a tone that completely indicated just the opposite, “but a guy like him should be spending more time hanging out with girls.”

“Well, there's not much to choose from.” Bill said, icily, sending a real glare her way this time.

Her cheeks flared with color, and her eyes widened at the rather direct insult, “I see now, you were just trying to use me, weren't you?” She insisted, “You didn't want to be friends at all.”

“Look, you're a nice girl.” Bill said, holding up a hand, “But none of your questions are really any of your business. Have a nice day.”

He tugged on Prissy's reins and led the docile mare on a quick path out of the corral and in Tom's direction. When he reached Tom's side, he dismounted with a heavy sigh.

“What is it?” Tom asked, looking over his shoulder.

“You just missed Nora accosting me.”

“What?” Tom turned around, his eyes scanning the corral. He could see Nora riding off into the distance.

“She wanted me to come to karaoke tonight.” Bill said, then added with a snort, “It's really crazy that I would rather go to the video conference than spend a night with her at karaoke.”

Tom smiled, “She can be a little overbearing.”

Bill gave an agreeing nod, then sobered a bit, “She asked me why I'm always hanging out with you.” He bit anxiously at his lower lip, “Do you think she's . . . you know . . . onto us?”

Tom's brow furrowed in a deep frown and he gazed worriedly at the figure receding into the horizon. At last, he shook his head, “I doubt it. Girls like her aren't taught to think like that, if you know what I mean.”

“I guess.” Bill mumbled.

“Don't worry about it.” Tom said, laying a hand on Bill's shoulder, “Even if she did, there's no way to prove it.”

Frowning into the distance, Bill thought about their position and for the first time, considered that they could both get into a lot of trouble for what they were doing. Yes, Bill was past the age of consent, but it wouldn't look good on the Miranda's track record, if their vice president was sleeping with young guests. Only God knew what Gordon and Simone would do if they found out how Bill had really been “making friends” this month. He really hoped that they would never have to open an argument of defense with “there's no proof.”

 

~

 

 

Bill's stomach was doing nervous flips as the video conference began. He sat low in his chair, arms wrapped tightly around his spasming middle, one leg bouncing restlessly. He chewed anxiously at his lower lip, avoiding long glances at Peter's laptop screen, where his mom and Gordon stared back at him.

“Hello, Simone, Gordon.” Peter started out in a diplomatic tone.

Bill doubted that behavior would last long. He knew what this conference would be all about – the fight with Dirk, and Tom's means of intervention. At this point, he didn't know if his parents would be more upset at Dirk or Tom.

“Hello, Peter. How are things going out there?” Simone asked, leaning closer to the webcam.

“Oh, it's rained for the past few days, but things are looking up.” Peter said with a fake smile, “Bill, here, has been participating in all the group activities, as you requested.”

“Good.” Simone smiled, “Bill, are you meeting some new friends?”

Bill shrugged, hardly looking up. He felt so nervous he could be sick.

“Bill . . .?” Simone prodded.

“I met this girl named Nora.” He spit out, at last.

“Oh!” Simone sounded genuinely happy to hear this, “What's she like?”

Bill shrugged again, “Pretty.”

He wasn't lying when he said he met Nora and that she was pretty. But if Simone and Gordon were to question the nature of his relationship to the girl, he would have to begin to manufacture lies. She was just a cover for Tom and him.

“Oh, how nice.” Simone replied, “How long is she staying for?”

“As long as she wants.” Bill muttered, “She's the boss's niece.”

When he glanced up, he saw that Simone and Gordon were whispering back and forth, Simone looking pleased and Gordon not so persuaded.

“Okay, okay.” Gordon waved a hand, “So, anything that needs to be reported?”

Bill squeezed his eyes shut. This was where the hammer fell.

“Well,” Peter began, drawing in a deep breath, “There was an incident . . .”

Gordon threw up his hands, “What did I say?” He muttered in Simone's direction.

“Gordon, please.” She laid a hand on his arm, then turned back to Peter, “What happened?”

“It's since been resolved, but. . ..” Peter glanced over at Bill, suddenly appearing just as ill as his charge, “There was a . . .a, um . . . fight.”

“A fight?” Gordon demanded, “What kind of fight? Be more specific, Peter. For God's sakes . . .”

“You remember Dirk McAllister?” Peter continued, cautiously.

“He's there, at the ranch?” Simone asked, her eyes wide.

Bill wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, she knew. Like he told Tom, all the parents talked. Chances were, Simone had found out about this little ranch from one or more of the other parents at Bill's school. Dirk and Bill had never been friends, but that didn't stop the mothers from talking.

“Yes.” Peter sighed, “I wasn't there for any of it, unfortunately, so I can't tell you exactly what happened, but . . . I guess this kid and Bill were fighting, and Mr. Kaulitz, the vice president intervened.”

“Fighting about what?” Gordon snapped, “Bill, look at me.”

Bill tore his eyes away from his lap and met Gordon's peeved expression through the computer screen. He could feel his stomach fluttering like a cage of butterflies, and he could feel the sweat under his clothes. He wanted to get out of his seat and run out of the room, he was so afraid that Gordon would rule that he couldn't talk to Tom again. He didn't want them to think Tom was violent or out of control . . . just protective.

“Were you fighting with this kid?” Gordon asked.

“Yes.” Bill whispered, “But not because I wanted to. He came up to me and wouldn't stop bothering me, so we went outside, and he attacked me. I was on the ground and he had his hands around my neck. . .”

“Oh my god. . .” Simone whispered, “This Dirk kid should be kicked out, shouldn't he?”

“The boss, Miss Franz did something about it.” Peter replied.

“Okay, let the kid talk.” Gordon held up a hand, “Bill, finish the story.”

Bill swallowed hard on a dry throat and shifted around his chair. With much difficulty, he managed to force the next words out of his mouth, “Tom stopped Dirk from choking me . . .”

Gordon's eyes flicked to Peter, “What's he not telling me?”

Peter sighed, and looked over at Bill with a knowing expression, “Miss Franz called a meeting later with all three. I guess Mr. Kaulitz got a little too physical with Dirk.”

“Physical.” Gordon repeated, raising a brow.

“Yes, he . . .um . . . punched Dirk.” Peter's voice dwindled with each word.

“Wait,” Gordon held up a hand, “You're telling me that this Kaulitz guy, the one Bill has been spending so much time with, is going around punching minors?”

“He's not going around punching everyone.” Bill interrupted, his voice finally rising above a whisper, “Just Dirk . .. because he was choking me.”

“Well, I think both of them should be in trouble.” Gordon groused, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Turns out, Dirk was banned from group activities, and Kaulitz got nothing.” Peter held up a disbelieving hand.

“Should this guy really be hanging around with Bill if he's willing to punch a kid in the face?” Gordon questioned, “Bill, I never trusted this guy, and now I'm hearing that he's attacking guests.”

“He's not attacking guests.” Bill argued, feeling a lump of emotion forming in his throat. The conference was going just as he had suspected it would, “He did it to save me because Dirk had his fucking hands around my neck!”

“Bill, what have I told you about language?” Gordon leaned closer to the screen, his eyes dark and narrowed.

“He didn't attack Dirk without reason.” Bill continued, ignoring the warning, “He saw that Dirk was choking me, and _defended_ me. He wouldn't hurt me. . . Ever.”

 _Not the way you would …_ Bill's mind painfully added.

Silence fell over the conference. Simone reached out for Gordon's arm and pulled him back from the screen to whisper in his ear. They conversed quietly for several moments while Bill squirmed in apprehension. Gordon could be final when he made his decision, but Simone had strange ways of making the man change his mind in a way no one else ever could.

“Okay, look,” Gordon said, at last, “I want you to keep an eye on this man, Peter. If by next conference you still don't like what you see, we'll have to put some rules in place.”

“That sounds pretty final to me.” Bill spat, “What if Peter lied to you?”

“Bill!” Peter exclaimed.

“Bill, that is no thing to say, especially when it's not true.” Gordon chided.

“Well, that's what you're doing to Tom, isn't it? You're passing judgment before you even know if it's true. You don't even know him. None of you do. He's a good person.”

“He has a point.” Simone murmured.

“Will you please let me deal with this?” Gordon said, quietly but firmly. He looked back at Bill, then pointed a finger at the screen, “You may be many miles away, Bill, but you still have to obey us. Just because you're out on this ranch all alone with your cowboy friend doesn't mean you can do whatever you want.”

“I know that.” Bill whispered, blinking back tears.

“Do you? Because it seems like you're getting pretty confident about your freedom out there, always running off with this guy.”

“I'm not running off with him. . .”

“Don't argue with me.” Gordon snapped, “We may not get along all the time, but I know when you're hiding something, kid. Just remember that.”

“I'm not hiding anything!” Bill cried, despite Gordon's recent warning not to argue.

Gordon gave a distrustful snort and shook his head, “Blink your eyes all you want at Mr. Kaulitz, but it won't work on me. I don't trust him, okay? And when we find out what's going on at the end of this month, my reasons will be completely justified.”

“But he hasn't done anything-”

“I don't care what you think about this guy, Bill.” Gordon interrupted, “I have a feeling my instincts are dead-on about him . . . This conference is over.”

Before Bill could protest, Gordon turned off the webcam and his parents disappeared for another week. Bill stared at the empty screen for several moments, fending off waves of emotion as he relived the conference in his mind. He had never been so sure about wanting something in his life, and now Gordon was telling him that things could be over even sooner than a month. If the next conference went badly, Bill could only have a week left with Tom . .. One little week.

Bill covered his face with his hands and sniffed back the tears that were suddenly filling his eyes. He felt Peter's hand on his shoulder.

“Bill, I'm sorry that went so bad-”

“Get off!” Bill yelled, slapping Peter's hand away from his shoulder. He rose from his chair, breathing hard and blinded by tears, “You don't give a fuck how I feel, Peter! You never did before, and you definitely don't now that that bastard is trying to take my friend away from me!”

“You need to calm down and not call your father by bad names.” Peter retaliated, jumping up from his chair.

“He's not my father!” Bill screamed, taking a lunging step toward Peter and bringing their faces inches apart, “That horrible, mean person is not my father! My father is dead, and Gordon is just the bad replacement my mother married for the money!”

They stood staring at each other in stunned silence, each one breathing hard. At last, Bill turned away, wiping at the tears welling from his eyes.

“I'm going out.” He muttered, grabbing his jacket and boots.

“You're not going anywhere.” Peter said, “Not after that display.”

Bill ignored him, stuffing his feet into his boots and shrugging into his jacket. He pocketed his phone and headed for the door, followed closely by Peter.

“Come back here this instant.” Peter shouted, grabbing at Bill's arm.

“Let go!” Bill wrenched his arm out of Peter's grasp. He pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch.

“Bill, I'm warning you-” Peter began.

Bill spun around, halfway across the porch and retraced his steps back to the doorway, where Peter stood.

“If this is the last week, I'm going to have using my 'freedom' and 'running off' with Tom, then I'm sure as hell going to enjoy it.” Bill threw up his hands, “You can tell Gordon whatever you want, but Tom is my friend. Go ahead, Peter, call Gordon right now and tell him how rebellious I am, and how much I need put in my place. I don't care. I've finally found something that makes me happy and I'm not giving up on it.”

He caught one glance at Peter's shocked expression before he spun on his heel and took off across the lawn toward Tom's cabin. Maybe now wasn't the time for complacency or not giving a shit what Gordon said, but he honestly didn't care anymore. He was done living his life in fear and regret. He knew what he had with Tom was real, and even if they only had a month together – or even less than that by Gordon's standards – he knew it wouldn't be a mistake. Loving Tom would never be a mistake.

 

~

 

Tom spent the first half of karaoke wondering how the conference with Bill's parents was going. Usually, he participated, even though he wasn't much of a singer, but tonight, all he could think about was Bill. He remembered the last conference, how Bill had come to him crying and distraught because of what Gordon had said. He hoped this week didn't turn out the same way.

He sat at a back corner table, barely touching the cookies and punch the kitchen had spread out for snacks that night. Several guests and hands participated in the karaoke, drawing laughter or sounds of delight from the crowd. Some were horrible, but others had fine singing voices. Tonight, Tom didn't care. He kept glancing at the door, hoping Bill would come find him after the conference.

Karaoke had been in full swing for an hour when the sound of someone saying his name jarred him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Nora sashaying over to his table.

“Hi, Tom.” She smiled sweetly.

“Hi, Nora.” He replied, wondering what Natalie's niece could possibly want with him . . . Especially since she seemed to be after Bill's attentions.

“Where's Bill?” She asked, sitting down at the folding chair across the table from him.

“He had to make a phone call.” Tom replied, tersely.

“Hmm.” She shrugged and curled one side of her upper lip, “Thought you two were always together.”

“Obviously not.” Tom spread his hands.

She glanced around the crowded room, then leaned closer, her large blue eyes intent, “Can I ask you something?”

“I guess . . .” He said, cautiously.

“Is Bill . . . gay?”

Tom's brow tugged in a frown, “I don't think that's my place to discuss.”

She gave a snort, “I think that's a yes.”

“And I think it's none of your business.” Tom replied.

“Well it is if I'm trying to date him.” She pointed out, then shrugged, “I just thought you could help me since you obviously know so much about him.”

Tom shook his head and pretended to be interested in the stage, where two girls were singing a duet, “Sorry, I don't think Bill is looking for a girlfriend.”

“Maybe he's looking for a boyfriend.” Nora muttered.

Tom opened his mouth to form a retort, but he saw Natalie walking over to their table and decided against it. The last thing he needed was Nora _and_ Natalie both questioning the nature of Bill and Tom's relationship. The boss's opinion went a lot farther than a teenage girl's – even if she was Natalie's niece.

“Hey, you two.” Natalie said, walking over to place a hand on Nora's shoulder, “Why don't I see either of you up there?”

“I'm singing later.” Nora said, her tone snobbish and unhappy.

Natalie raised an eyebrow in Tom's direction. Tom waved his hand and made a face, “Not tonight, Nat.”

“Why not? You could do 'Sweet Home Alabama' with me.” She teased.

“Not in the mood tonight.” Tom shrugged, then instinctively glanced at the door.

Much to his surprise, he actually saw what he had been looking for all night. Bill's slender but distinct figure was silhouetted by the moonlight outdoors, but the strobe lights from the karaoke stage illuminated tears on his pale cheeks. Tom cursed under his breath, and rose from the chair.

“I have to go.”

Natalie watched, perplexed, as Tom made his way through the crowd, to the doorway where Bill stood. Nora simply shook he head as her suspicions were once more confirmed.

Tom reached the doorway, an intense wave of protectiveness claiming his heart. Bill wavered like a fragile sapling in the wind, one hand gripping the doorway, the other extended towards Tom. His eyes were wide and wet, dark with fear and sadness. His full mouth trembled, on the verge of releasing an audible sob.

Tom wrapped an arm around Bill's waist and kept walking, whisking Bill out of the building. The door slammed behind them and Tom pressed Bill up against the wall, cradling his cheeks to wipe away the tears.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, anxiously, pressing a soft kiss against Bill's forehead.

Bill shook his head, but didn't speak. He was fighting back tears, not trusting his voice. Clutching Tom's shirt, he ducked his head into Tom's chest and sucked in calming breaths. Tom stroked his fingers through Bill's hair, anxiously wondering what could have Bill upset. He had so many ideas of what Gordon could have said, he didn't have the time to properly worry about all of them. It made him angry that a man that was supposed to be a father figure to Bill, was completely betraying the boy's trust by abusing and hurting him so badly. Something needed to be done about the man.

At last, Bill lifted his head, and wiped at his face. His eyes were wet and puffy, but now more determined than ever.

“I want to have sex.” He murmured, his voice rough and scratchy from crying.

“Bill . . .” Tom began shaking his head.

“No.” Bill interrupted. His eyes were black in the dim lighting and wretched with the smudged mascara and kohl, “You can't distract me from this anymore. I want you.” Bill added, more urgently. He pressed his body firmly against Tom's pulled Tom's head down for a kiss. Their mouths met sloppily, Bill trying to squirm his tongue in and Tom resisting.

“Bill, wait.” Tom insisted, breaking his mouth free of Bill's, “Just wait a second.”

“No, we shouldn't waste any time.” Bill replied, urging his hips against Tom's.

Their crotches rubbed together and Tom struggled to remain focused on the fact that Bill had been sobbing only minutes ago.

“Come on, Tom.” Bill whispered, huskily, “I want you to fuck me. You can have me any way you want.”

Those words sent a hot, needy jolt straight to Tom's core. No one had said anything like that to him in a long time; no one had ever said it, that was anything like Bill. He was getting a free pass to do anything he wanted with Bill . .. and fuck it, he was about to turn Bill down cold. He had to.

“Stop.” Tom ordered, disentangling Bill's limbs from his body and taking a step back.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”” Bill cried, grabbing at Tom's shirt once more and pulling him forward with surprising strength, “I know you want it! Why are we waiting, Tom? There's nothing to wait for!”

“Bill, you're upset and you're angry-” Tom tried to soothe Bill's rising temper with a calm, gentle tone, as he often did with the newly broken horses.

“Don't tell me what I am!” Bill yelled.

His hands released Tom's shirt only to come down once more, open-handed. His palms met Tom's shirt with a loud smack, causing Tom to take a surprised step backward.

“Bill, calm down-”

“I want you!” Bill cried, his fingers curling around the collar of Tom's shirt and yanking him forward again.

Tom took a stumbling step forward and found himself pressed up against Bill, who was now trapped between Tom and the wall. Bill smashed their mouths together, kissing hard and desperate. Tom could taste the salt of his tears, feel the boy trembling with anger and need.

Had Bill come to him, quiet and seductive, like so many other times, Tom would have crumbled right then and there. But he couldn't think about Bill within the realms of sex when Bill was so distraught. It simply wasn't right.

Tom grabbed Bill by the shoulders and ripped them apart. Bill was still fighting to keep their bodies close as Tom clasped his tear-stained cheeks in both hands and locked their eyes.

“Bill, stop this instant.” Tom ordered, “You are upset and not thinking straight, and I refuse to take advantage of you, just like everyone else in your life!”

Bill's eyes widened, and silence descended, except for the distant chirp of crickets and the quiet rustle of wind through the trees. A tear slid down Bill's cheek, as if to signal the fight draining from his body. He sagged against the wall, his expression falling. Fresh tears clouded his eyes and he glanced away, lifting a hand to suppress them.

“Now tell me, what happened.” Tom insisted, softly. He reached out to touch Bill's cheek, urging the boy to look at him, “Tell me.”

Bill looked up at him with large, dark eyes, so full of sorrow for someone so young.

“I had to tell them about the fight with Dirk.” Bill whispered, “Gordon said if Peter tells him one more bad thing about you that we're not allowed to talk or hang out anymore.” His face began to crumple with new emotion and he shook his head rapidly, “I can't do it without you, Tom. What am I supposed to do here without you?”

“It's okay. That's not going to happen.” Tom soothed, though he didn't doubt Peter was capable of giving another negative report.

“But it could!” Bill cried, “Don't lie to me, Tom! By next week we could be separated!”

“But it also might not happen.” Tom replied, firmly. He took Bill's face in both hands and pressed a warm kiss against his mouth. The kiss broke and their foreheads rested against each other, warm breaths blowing back and forth.

“I still want to have sex.” Bill whispered, “I want you as many times as I can before it's over.”

“It's not over yet.” Tom replied, gently. He pressed another kiss to Bill's lips, “I won't stop fighting for this, remember?”

Bill nodded, “Me either.”

“That's my Bill.” Tom forced a smile and gave an affectionate tug to a lock of Bill's hair.

Bill gave a lopsided smile, “Okay, all crying and screaming aside . . . Can we . . .do it?”

Tom closed his eyes and let out a sigh, “God, you have no idea how much it turns me on to hear you say that . . .”

When he opened his eyes, Bill was smiling softly.

“Then let's do it.” Bill said, biting his lower lip coyly.

Tom nodded, “I have to go into town for supplies next Tuesday. I'll get some . . . essentials then.”

Bill's brow furrowed and his lips began to pout, “That's not soon enough.”

“Nothing I can do.” Tom said, “We don't do supply run until then.”

“Why can't we just . .. ?”

“No.” Tom said, firmly, “I've read a lot about this, and I won't hurt you by trying to improvise.”

Bill's lower lip slid out even further in an impressive, yet adorable pout.

“You can't persuade me otherwise.” Tom said, reaching out to rub Bill's cheekbone with his thumb, “We're not having sex until I get condoms and lube.”

Bill pursed his lips and sighed, “You're the boss.”

Tom chuckled, “On this ranch, you better believe it. But this . . .” He motioned between them, “We're partners, okay?”

Bill's pout turned into the beginnings of a smile.

Tom leaned forward and kissed the curve of Bill's ear, then whispered, “We're lovers.”

He felt a little shiver go through Bill's slender body, and worked to suppress a smile. Holding Bill closer, he looked the boy in the eye and added, “So, as partners, we're agreeing not to have sex until I get what we need. Okay?”

Bill shrugged, trying to appear noncommittal, but his eyes were sparkling, “Okay.”

Tom smiled softly, and drew Bill in to kiss his forehead, “It'll be Tuesday before you know it.”

 

 


	15. Heart-To-Hearts

Day 11

 

The memory of last night's conference call still lingered like a black cloud over Bill's mind, but the promise of the whole weekend out on the ranch with Tom, and no other adults besides Randy, made Thursday's torture worth it.

Bill bounded out of bed early that morning and went to the shower with his iPod playing Black Sabbath full blast. He positioned the iPod outside of the shower and climbed in, humming along with the lyrics. While he took his time showering, he thought endlessly about what he and Tom could get away with on the camping trip . . . what they had already gotten away with. He thought delightedly about the promise of sex, if only he could make it until next Tuesday.

By the time he had the conditioner washed out of his hair, he had a full on erection. He didn't think twice about taking it eagerly in his hand and working himself to climax with the din of drums, electric guitar, and Ozzy Ozborne as a soundtrack to his reckless pleasure. He exited the bathroom, feeling refreshed and lighter than air.

Throughout lunch, Bill and Tom exchanged glances, smiling and communicating their excitement without speaking. Bill looked across the table and was pleased to see how irritated Peter was by their non-verbals. Unfortunately for Peter, he couldn't use glances as ammunition against Tom.

As lunch was coming to a close, Natalie rose from her chair, tapping her spoon against her glass to get everyone's attention. The mess hall quieted as everyone turned to face the boss.

“As most of you know, today begins the first of our weekly three-day trip across the Miranda Gulch Ranch. Our vice president, Tom Kaulitz, and Randy Cyrus will be leading the camping trip. If you haven't signed up for the trip, it's not too late. Simply let me or one of these two men know that you would like to go and sign the release papers before the trip starts at three o'clock this afternoon. Everyone needs to meet at the horse barn before three so that Tom and Randy can pair you with a horse. Make sure you bring enough clothes and toiletries for three days. We will be providing the food and tents . . .I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. Lunch is dismissed.”

Conversation quickly started up as Natalie took her seat. The kitchen staff rolled out trays to take the empty dishes and most of the guests began to clear out of the mess hall. Bill fidgeted in his chair, eager to get going even though it was only twelve thirty. He imagined he could fill the time in between lunch and the beginning of the camping trip by tagging along with Tom as he did his chores.

“Tom,” Natalie leaned over to touch Tom's arm.

“Yeah?” Tom turned his attention to Natalie.

“I'd like to have a moment in private.” She said, smiling diplomatically.

“Oh . . . okay. Yeah, sure.” Tom replied, caught off guard.

Natalie rose from the table and walked up the stairs to where her office was located. Tom turned to Bill, a frown pinching his brow.

“You're not in trouble are you?” Bill asked, anxiously.

“I doubt it. Probably just last minute reminders before the trip.” Tom said, giving a smile that was obviously forced.

Bill regarded Tom with disbelieving eyes, “She looked pretty serious for reminders.”

“It's a big trip.” Tom shrugged, “She would like to go and make sure everything is good, but she has to stay here and run things. It makes her anxious.”

“Okay.” Bill said slowly, “Should I wait for you here?”

“Yeah, I'm sure it won't take long.” Tom said, rising from his seat, “You wanna help me do my chores?”

Bill nodded, eagerly, “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, I'll be back soon.” Tom said, touching Bill's shoulder lightly before turning to follow Natalie up the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Bill sank down in his chair and let his expression grow dark with concern. He remembered the last time Natalie had called Tom to her office, she had been prepared to yell at all of them for the fight with Dirk. Deep in his gut, Bill knew Natalie didn't want to talk to Tom about the trip. Even though Bill had known Tom for only ten days, he could read the worry in the man's eyes like a book. Maybe he wasn't in trouble, but Natalie needed to speak to him very seriously.

“Hey, Trumper.”

Bill spun around his chair when he heard the distinct and snide voice of Dirk McAllister. He looked up to see the tall, trim teen swaggering across the room to where Bill sat, a smirk set firmly on his face.

“What do you want, Dirk?” Bill snapped, rising from his chair.

“Missing your boyfriend?” Dirk continued, glancing around at his posse of friends that were following him, looking for encouragement. The other teens snickered quietly, awaiting Bill's response.

“If you're talking about Tom, he's not my boyfriend.” Bill replied, crossing his arms.

“Okay, fuck buddy, whatever.” Dirk laughed, “Don't tell me you're not sucking his dick.”

“Haven't we had this conversation?” Bill said, stepping up to Dirk with his chin lifted and his jaw set, “I told you to go fuck your dog. Looks like you haven't died of rabies . . .Yet.”

Dirk's expression darkened and his hand shot out to shove Bill's shoulder, “I could kick your ass right now and your boyfriend wouldn't be able to save you.”

Bill shoved back, causing Dirk to take a step backward, “Don't touch me!”

“Oh, I'll touch you.” Dirk railed, pointing a finger at Bill's face, “I'll kick your face in so hard you won't see straight for a week.”

“Too bad I'm gonna be gone all weekend with my 'boyfriend'.” Bill retorted, “And you're stuck here, fingering yourself in your cabin.”

“You little shit.” Dirk growled, taking a step forward.

“What are you gonna do?” Bill gloated, hardly flinching, “'Kick my face in' and Miss Franz is gonna kick you out of here.”

“Don't worry, I'll be seeing a lot more of you next week, Trumper.” Dirk replied, smugly.

Bill's steely exterior quickly faded and he felt his stomach take a nosedive into his ass, “What?”

“Yeah, didn't you know?” Dirk replied, grinning, “I'm booked here for two weeks.”

Bill felt his teeth grinding and his face growing hot with anger. He had been so looking forward to enduring only one week of Dirk and having the rest of the month free of this asshole. Suddenly, another whole week of dealing with Dirk's degrading comments and smug expressions seemed like an eternity.

Dirk began laughing as he motioned for his friends to follow him. As they left the mess hall, Dirk called over his shoulder, “See you next week, Trumper.”

Bill watched him go, wondering if it would be too much to ask for Tom to kick Dirk's ass one more time.

 

~

 

The moment the door of Natalie's office closed behind Tom, he knew he was in for a lecture. Natalie wasn't seated casually behind her desk as she usually was for business conversations. She was leaning against the front of it, her arms crossed securely over her chest.

“Tom, have a seat.” She said, her tone carefully neutral.

Tom sat down in one of the chairs without protest, disliking the feeling of her Natalie looking down at him with such disapproval.

“You have a big weekend ahead of you.” She began.

“Yep.” Tom nodded, “Just like every other week.”

“No, not like every other week.” She shook her head, “This week, you are taking a certain young problem kid with you.”

“I'd prefer if you didn't refer to Bill like that.” Tom said, tersely, meeting her steely gaze with his own determined one.

“But he is, nonetheless.” She replied, narrowing her eyes, “I just want to know that I'm not going to get any bad reports when you return from this trip. Nothing having to do with say . . . punching a guest in the face?”

“Natalie,” Tom began, shaking his head, “That happened once, and that asshole was beating on Bill.”

“Tom, I'm not saying you didn't do the right thing in defending Bill.” Natalie said, her cold exterior melting a bit, “I'm saying you need to be objective when you have so many people under your care.”

“If you're questioning my responsibility and leadership abilities, you're way out of line.” Tom snapped, rising from the chair. He could feel the anger sprouting in his chest and burning a steady path outward. He didn't care if Natalie was his boss; they had been friends much longer than business associates and he refused to let her question his character.

“Tom, I'm not.” She said, catching him by the arm before he could think about leaving the office, “I know you can do your job. I just . . . I've been in this position and-”

“I doubt it.” Tom interrupted, angrily, “You've never met anyone like Bill, Natalie, and you never will.”

She let go of his arm with a sigh, “Can you please think about what I'm trying to say for a moment?”

“What are you trying to say?” He insisted, “Because right now, it sounds to me like you're calling my character into question and also accusing Bill of being an out of control delinquent.”

“I apologize.” She said, softly, “But this is exactly what I mean. You are very protective of this boy, and he obviously means a lot to you. I don't want to see your loyalty, which is a very good quality, get you into trouble. You're going to be out in the middle of nowhere with quite a few people in your care. You can't be going off recklessly to watch out for just one of them, or defend him from someone like Dirk McAllister. I'm asking you to remain objective. I'm asking you to continue being the great vice president you have always been.”

Tom let out a sigh, feeling his anger diffuse.

Natalie was mostly right. Since meeting Bill, the boy was practically all he thought about. He didn't care as much about being a leader of this ranch as he had before because he was so consumed with Bill. Perhaps such an infatuation could be blinding and destructive to someone in a position of leadership, but Tom simply couldn't end what he had with Bill. Their relationship in the past ten days was honestly more important to him than his position as vice president on this ranch had been for the past three years.

But he couldn't let Natalie know that. He couldn't let anyone know that.

“I'm sorry, too.” Tom said, laying a friendly hand on Natalie's shoulder, “You're right. I need to remain objective, and I will. You have nothing to worry about.”

A frown flickered across her brow, “I hope you're right.”

 

~

 

When Tom descended the stairs from the meeting with Natalie, Bill could see that something was wrong. He himself was still upset from the conversation with Dirk, but his concern over the bully faded when he saw the disgruntled expression on Tom's face.

“What did she say?” Bill asked, jumping up from his chair.

Tom shook his head, “Not here.”

Bill anxiously followed Tom as the simmering rancher marched out of the mess hall, through the lobby, and led them across the grass to the horse barn. He worked quickly and mechanically, gathering the wheelbarrow and shovel to begin mucking out stalls. Bill followed, watching Tom's movements with growing concern.

“So … what did she say?” He urged, at last.

Tom huffed as he rapidly scooped manure into the wheelbarrow. He shoveled several more scoops before pausing to lean on the handle. Wiping his brow he replied, “She said I need to stay objective, that I'm too concerned with you, that I need to be focused when I have so many people under my care. Basically that I'm not being a good leader because I'm friends with you.”

“Oh . . .” Bill replied, quietly, feeling his stomach turn with anxiety.

“But you want to know the truth?” Tom said, leaning the shovel against the wall in order to grasp Bill's shoulders, “I don't give a fuck about any of that.”

Bill felt his eyes widen, “You don't?”

“No.” Tom said, resolutely, but sounding slightly shocked by his own revelation, “No, I care about you, Bill.”

“I . . . Tom, I don't . .. I don't know what to say . . .” Bill murmured in surprise.

“You don't have to say anything.” Tom shook his head, “I just realized it. I could leave this ranch with you tomorrow and not care. I've been spending every day on this ranch for six years, just trying to get through every day without remembering why I don't want to go home. And that's not living, Bill. It's existing. And it's fucking exhausting. Now I've finally found something that's important to me, that's worth waking up for every morning. It's you, Bill.” Tom smiled, and Bill thought he saw a glint of happy tears in Tom's eyes before the rancher pulled him into a tight hug, “It's you.”

Bill wrapped his arms around Tom's middle, fending off his own wave of emotion. He never knew how to reply when Tom said something sweet or romantic to him, but this confession topped every other remark that had made Bill blush or cry in the last week. Tom was telling Bill that he made living worth it, that each intake of breath, each pulse of his heart was for Bill. That nothing else in the world mattered if they were together.

It was enough to make Bill swoon with delight and happiness.

They hugged for several long moments until Tom pulled back, smiling.

“I should get these chores done before the trip starts.” He said, glancing around the barn.

“Yeah.” Bill agreed, “I'll help you. Just tell me what to do.”

Tom gave Bill the job of throwing fresh hay into the horse's stalls after Tom had mucked them. They proceeded down in the aisle in silence for a few minutes before Bill said, “I found out Dirk is staying for two weeks.”

“What? Really?” Tom replied, making a face, “I was hoping that asshole would be gone soon after we came back from the trip.”

“I know.” Bill scowled, “He approached me while you were talking to Natalie.”

Tom came to a complete stop, setting the shovel down and turning to face Bill, “He didn't attack you or anything did he?”

“He always has something mean to say but we didn't get into it.” Bill shrugged, “I've been dealing with him all of high school, Tom. I can deal with it.”

“Because the night of the dance really proved that.” Tom replied, crossing his arms.

“I know.” Bill said, his tone acid, “He's just trying to get under my skin since he knows he'll get kicked out if he tried to beat me up again.”

“Well, you've got a pretty bad attitude of your own. I'm sure you sent him packing.” Tom said with a smirk.

“Tried my hardest.” Bill agreed, “I just don't want to endure another week of him.”

“Hey,” Tom said, lifting Bill's chin with his index finger, “You'll be with me next week.”

Bill fought back a smile at the thought, “Having sex.”

Tom's cheeks colored, but he nodded in agreement, “Right.”

“Then I can make it.” Bill concluded.

Tom smiled, “We'll make it together.”

 

~

 

The camping expedition looked more like a caravan.

The group started out at three o'clock as Natalie had stated, headed up by Tom, who rode Tony at the very front of the line. The campers rode behind him in two parallel lines that were concluded by the chuck wagon, which carried food, tents, first aid kits and other other essentials they might need.

Tom narrated through several beautiful scenes like a travel guide, giving all the guests a thorough background on the Miranda Gulch Ranch.

Bill hung back with the rest of the group, trying to appear as if he were paying attention, when his mind was truly miles away. He had already been given a personal tour of the Ranch by Tom, and nature had never really interested him. What he was seriously contemplating was their recent conversation . . . and the idea that they could be having sex very soon. But what kept his mind running in circles was Tom's sudden declaration that Bill meant more to him than even his position on the Ranch, something he had treasured for three years. Bill knew that Tom cared about him, of course, but that statement meant nearly as much to Bill as a confession of love. It meant Tom was willing to give up everything he had worked for here on the Ranch, his home, his friends . . . Everything that had formerly been important to him. For Bill, for _only_ Bill.

No one cared that much about Bill. To everyone else, he was just a delinquent teen, getting into trouble at every turn, and making people's lives miserable with his antics . . . But all along, what Tom was giving him, was all he wanted. For someone's attention to be centered on him, for someone to care when he got hurt or cried, for someone to be his friend through every hardship, for someone to give their loyalty and never betray his trust. For years, he had thought getting into trouble at school, or vandalizing with his friends at night, or throwing childish fits would get his parents' attention, and show them how much he needed their care and support. Unfortunately, the tactics had failed miserably, and instead became a terrible habit he couldn't break.

This Ranch was the last straw for his parents. They had sent him out here with every hope that a little change of scenery, a little time by himself, a little immersion with other teens that weren't the troublemakers he knew back home, would transform their son into a respectful, obedient young man.

In the weeks before being banished to this Ranch, he'd had a number of fights with his mother and Gordon. He didn't know what had come over him. Sometimes, he disobeyed his parents just for fun, and sometimes because their rules really pissed him off. But as the school year came to a close and the realization that next year, he would be a senior, and a legal adult set in, he became even more fed up with their constant pestering and lectures. He exploded at every single comment, every reminder of the rules in their house. He simply couldn't handle it anymore.

Simone came up with the idea to send Bill on a little vacation. She could see the tension perpetually boiling between Bill and Gordon, and fearing the worst, felt the need to separate the two. Bill had been looking forward to spending all summer in L.A. with his friends. The idea of being sent away to some obscure ranch in Montana seemed like a travesty . . . even if it was only for a month. Ironic, how a month suddenly seemed so short now that he was invested in a certain person that was unfortunately tied to the Ranch.

Bill could only wonder if he would go back to his parents better or worse than before. Right now he was so consumed with Tom and spending as much time with the rancher as he could before this month was over that he didn't have time to consider the future. He almost had himself convinced that he and Tom would find a way to make it work even after Bill had to return to L.A.

When the afternoon was progressing toward sunset, Randy, who was driving the chuck wagon, traded places with Tom. Bill waited for only a few minutes before steering Prissy out of the line and riding back down the line to the chuck wagon. He pulled Prissy around so that he was riding right next to Tom.

“Can I hop on?” He asked, hopefully.

“Sure.” Tom replied with a smile.

Tom pulled the wagon to a stop and Bill climbed down from Prissy and onto the bench next to Tom. He looped Prissy's reins around a knob on the wagon and scooted as close to Tom as he could without being too obvious.

“I saw you looking pretty distant earlier.” Tom said, giving Bill a slight nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

“Yeah.” Bill shrugged, staring at his lap.

“Must have been some pretty heavy stuff.” Tom continued, his tone inquiring.

“About my mom. . . and Gordon.” Bill added his step-father's name with a scowl.

Tom nodded slowly, but Bill could see the rapid, angry flush color his cheeks within moments of Bill's mentioning Gordon. He had known all along that he shouldn't tell Tom about the beatings for this exact reason, but now it gave him a quiet rush to know that someone else was just as mad about it as he was.

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't to.” Tom said, turning a hard gaze toward the line of horses in front of them.

“I don't mind.” Bill shrugged, though he still felt slightly uncomfortable with revealing personal details to Tom. However, next Tuesday was the point of no return and Bill wanted to hold nothing back, “It was about my mom, mostly.”

Tom glanced down at him, his gaze unsure but curious.

“When I was younger.” Bill added, examining his nails closely, “When my real dad was alive. She was actually really fun. We were always going to park, and playing together, and reading together. She was really happy and carefree.”

Tom's eyes darted away, and Bill saw him swallow hard.

“Then my dad died.” Bill continued, his voice breathless with fresh emotion, “And she just . . . closed up.” He brought his hands together until his fingers clasped, “The light in her eyes went out. She was cold and. . . We didn't do things together like we used to. Now I wonder if she even cares.”

“I think she does.” Tom said with a slow nod, “Deep down, she cares. A mother never stops loving her child . . . Never.” He added the last word more quietly, with a pained expression.

Bill saw a flicker of something there, a tiny glimpse into the looking glass of Tom's heart. It was a flash of memory, the white and shriveled seams of a barely healed wound. And then it was gone, as if it had never been there, and Bill wondered if he had been seeing things, reflecting his pain onto the person he loved most.

“How did she meet Gordon?” Tom asked, changing the subject.

“He's in housing and land development.” Bill replied, “He was going to tear down the apartment building we lived in and some of the surroundings buildings for a new office structure. She didn't want to lose her home, so she went right to the top. I guess he took pity on her.”

“Pity enough to marry her?”

Bill shrugged, “I dunno. I never knew what they saw in each other.”

“So, did he tear down your building?” Tom asked.

“Yep.” Bill nodded, “And we moved in with him. It all happened really fast.”

“But, she knows . . . that . . .” Tom began, carefully.

“She knows.” Bill said, “That's why I said I don't know if she cares. She never stops him. I mean, I think at first she was scared of him. Now I guess she's just on his side.”

“That's wrong.” Tom said, his voice quiet but firm, “He should be arrested and thrown in jail.”

“That's never going to happen.” Bill said with a snort, “He's got connections. Besides, I'm gonna be out of there in a year. I've made it for the last five years; I can make it for one more.”

“Your life shouldn't just be surviving.” Tom replied, his eyes dark and fiery, “You're a good kid, Bill. You're smart and fun and beautiful, and he's fucking blind if he doesn't see that.”

Bill gave a weak smile despite the tears he felt his in eyes. His limbs felt wobbly again, his heart giving weak, struggling beats just like every other time Tom said something sweet and kind.

“Well, I don't know about being smart . . .” Bill shrugged.

“Look, I don't care if you do good in school or not.” Tom disagreed, “Most of that book knowledge isn't going to help you in real life anyway. You've got a good head on your shoulders; you're going to do just fine if you channel all that passion you have in the right direction.”

Bill squirmed on the hard, wood bench, feeling a blush rising on his cheeks.

“You know what my best advice is?” Tom urged with a smile.

“What?” Bill asked.

“Do you what you want to do.” Tom said, pointing a finger at Bill's chest, “Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If you want to be a clown in the circus, do it, even if people tell you its wrong or stupid.”

Bill started laughing at Tom's analogy, “Okay.”

“If you go through life trying to please everyone else, or doing what society thinks is right, you're going to be a very unhappy person.” Tom added, “And don't let someone like Gordon stop you, or crush you're spirit. In the long run, that man is only a tiny percentage of what matters. You're gonna leave him in the dust.”

Bill bit hard at his lip, and felt his chest convulse with barely controlled emotion. He wanted to break down crying and fall into Tom's arms at this moment – not from sadness or the memories of his childhood, but from sheer joy. Tom was the only person who ever said such encouraging things to him; Tom was the only one who had ever been sincere.

Tom reached over and lifted Bill's chin, ripping away his last attempt to hide the flush of his cheeks and the tears in his eyes.

“Don't let anyone tell you you're not beautiful.” He concluded in a whisper, “You're the most beautiful person I have ever seen, inside and out.”

Bill nodded, sucking desperately at his lower lip to hold back grateful sobs.

Tom's lips passed in a chaste kiss over Bill's forehead, like a butterfly landing for a single moment before flying away. It was quick but obvious, and anyone looking in their direction could have seen it. But at the moment Bill didn't care. For the first time in years, he was truly happy.

 

 

 


	16. Exposure

Day 12

 

Bill was disappointed that he and Tom didn't have any private time that night. By the time Tom and Randy found a place to camp, built a fire, cooked dinner, and helped everyone set up their tents, it was past dark. Everyone, including Tom, was exhausted from that afternoon's journey.

The next morning, everyone was up at nine o'clock for breakfast so that they could get an early start. Everyone except for Bill. He was still half-asleep in his tent, trying to block out the sounds of everyone talking over breakfast with a hand over his ear when Tom ducked into the tent.

“Bill, come on. I know it's early but you have to get up.” Tom said, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

Bill gave an indiscernible groan and burrowed deeper into his sleeping bag. He could feel the crisp morning air coming through the open flap of the tent and despised the idea of being ripped from the warm, soft folds of his sleeping bag at this ungodly hour in the morning.

“Come on.” Tom urged, pulling the edge of the sleeping bag away from Bill's head and allowing the cool air to seep into the rest of the bedding.

“Ugh, Tom!” Bill moaned, turning over sharply to glare up at Tom with bleary eyes.

“I'm sorry.” Tom chuckled at Bill's disheveled state, “But you have to get up or get left behind.”

“Okay, okay . . .” Bill groaned, swatting at Tom's pestering hands.

“I can help you get dressed if you like.” Tom added, a devilish glint in his eyes.

Bill popped up out of the sleeping bag, his eyes round, “I'm awake!”

Tom laughed harder, “I'm just kidding. Now hurry up! I'll try to save you some breakfast before everyone eats it all.”

He slipped back out of the tent with Bill trying to slap him for teasing. He zippered the tent closed once more, leaving Bill to get dressed without him.

Bill moved around the close quarters of the tent, managing to get dressed without hitting his head on the ceiling or tripping on the three different bags he had brought with him. He'd been teased by other campers for bringing his whole cabin, but each bag was essential. One was for clothes, the second for toiletries, and the third for make up. He didn't explain these things, of course, instead opting for snidely making the point that bringing his whole cabin would require a dozen bags, not just three.

Since he didn't have his hair straightener, he gathered his long, dark locks into a quick ponytail and smashed a cap on to hide the disgrace. Putting on a pair of dark sunglasses and donning a Led Zeppelin hoodie, he trudged out of his tent to face the ridiculously early morning.

Outside was much different than it had looked last night. Nearly all the tents that had once been positioned in a circle were now packed up in the chuck wagon. The campfire that had been the center of the circle was nothing but a pile of ashes and charred fragments of wood. Everyone was waiting on him.

“You need helping taking down your tent?” Nora asked, as she approached him from across the lawn where she was helping load the chuck wagon.

Bill shook his head, “No thanks. Tom will help me.”

“I think he has to do something with Randy.” She shook her head, “Let me help. I've been setting up and tearing down these tents for years.”

Bill shrugged, and anxiously glanced around the campsite for Tom. As Nora had suggested, he saw Tom talking with Randy near the chuck wagon, apparently in deep conversation. At last, he decided that he couldn't get out of Nora helping him.

“Okay,” He agreed, dismally.

He pulled all of his bags out of the tent and carried them to the wagon. He found a place for his things and slowly walked back to his tent, now the only one still standing. Nora was already taking it down, but he lent a hand where he could. He had never been an outdoors kind of person, and the process of setting up and taking down the tent still baffled him.

“You look pretty tired.” Nora said with a coy smile, “Late night?”

“No later than everyone else.” Bill replied, evasively.

She shrugged, then added with a grin, “You know, we're going swimming today, right? It's the best part of this trip because you get to see everyone you've been scoping all week in their bathing suit.”

Bill smiled back, though he was thinking of Tom in his swim trunks rather than Nora in her bikini.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Maybe you could ride by me today in the line.” Nora suggested, as they were carrying the folded up tent toward the wagon, “We haven't gotten to talk lately.”

Bill shrugged, noncommittal. He really just wanted to tell her that he would be riding with Tom at the front of the line, or in the wagon if at all possible, but he didn't want to give the nosy girl another reason to question his friendship with Tom.

It wasn't long before everyone had their horses saddled and they were back on the trail again. Just like yesterday, Tom started out as the guide and Randy drove the chuck wagon. Ignoring Nora's request, Bill guided Prissy up next to Tony, content to be next to Tom even though they couldn't talk with Tom giving a narration of the Ranch.

The day was filled with riding and exploring. They went fishing in the creek, visited the shooting range, and as Nora had explained, went swimming. Bill grinned when he saw that they would be jumping into the same clear, cold water as the waterfall Tom had showed Bill on their first tour. The place where Bill had fallen and hurt his arm, and Tom had to take him back to the cabin for first aid. Bill could still sharply recall that moment in Tom's kitchen, when Tom had touched him for the first time, hands and mouth eagerly roaming over Bill's naked skin.

Bill was almost relived to be jumping in the freezing cold water with the hot and heavy memories assaulting him, even more relieved when everyone changed into their swim wear and Tom came out wearing a pair of loose, black swim trunks. Bill, too, was wearing swim trunks, but red in color. Their gazes locked from across the grass, and Bill could feel the heat sparking from Tom's eyes even at a distance.

He ducked his head to hide the flush on his cheeks, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Tom's body. Bill had never been the type to work out or be overly concerned about his appearance; Tom's perfect physique impressed him like most people didn't. His skin was bronzed to a golden brown that stretched across each delicious inch of muscle that rippled like waves just beneath the surface. A light dusting of hair crossed his chest and nearly disappeared before forming an eye-catching trail down below the waistband of his low slung shorts. Bill thought about licking down that little trail to the treat that lay just beneath and nearly ran back to where he had left his clothes because he simply couldn't handle it.

At last, Bill managed to get into the water where everyone else was already splashing and having fun. The cold mountain water hit him hard, stealing away any heat that lingered in his groin. He gasped aloud right before his momentum submerged him, giving him a mouthful of freezing cold water. He made his way back to the surface with panicky flails of his arms and legs. His head broke free of the water with his hair plastered to his face and his lips moving rapidly to find oxygen.

“Hey, hey, it's okay.”

He thrashed around in the water to see Tom treading water next to him, an amused smile on his lips.

“It's not that deep.” Tom added, “You're not gonna drown.”

Bill swiped hair from his face and lifted his chin, trying to reclaim a bit of dignity, “I. . . I knew that.”

Tom chuckled, “Sure you did. Now come on, let's play.”

Tom meant that they play with everyone else and join in the splashing and swimming. But Bill really just wanted to sneak away to some point of seclusion in trees and rocks nearby and lose himself in Tom's touch. He couldn't go all weekend without feeling Tom's hands on him; he was determined for them to have at least one moment of privacy where they could both enjoy orgasm at each other's capable hands.

Hours later, after they had fully enjoyed the water and everyone was changed and dried, the caravan made another stop for the night.

Tom helped Bill pitch his tent before they went to the center of the circle to help Randy build the bonfire. As they were gathering sticks and branches for the fire, Bill kept a steady gaze on Tom. The rancher was wearing a black and red checkered shirt, unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and dark wash jeans that hugged his ass nicely. Each time he bent over to reach a stick on the ground, Bill either got a fine view down the front of the shirt or a display of the denim stretching tightly over Tom's butt.

Bill anxiously licked his lips and hoped no one could see how flushed he was becoming. His insides felt like jelly, remembering and imagining what those big, work roughened hands could do to his soft, delicate body.

At last, everyone gathered around the bonfire for a dinner, giving Bill something to focus on other than his desire for Tom. He dug into his food with a passion, keeping his eyes firmly on the mess of ham, baked beans, and biscuits that covered his plate. Tom, however, was seated right next to him, and Bill couldn't ignore the way Tom's eyes were branding him all over.

When Bill scraped his plate clean first, Tom nudged his shoulder, laughing, “Someone's hungry.”

Bill felt his face grow even hotter. He set his plate down and shrugged, vainly attempting to appear nonchalant, “It's just good . .. that's all . . .”

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly and he pursed his lips for a moment before glancing away. Bill noticed a matching flush crawling above Tom's collar, and bit back his own smirk, pleased to see that the easy-going, and hard to fluster Tom Kaulitz wasn't immune to the need that had been gnawing away at Bill all day.

The sky was dark and pin-pointed with stars as dinner came to a close. Randy suggested toasted marshmallows over the fire and most of the camp agreed. Seeing his chance, Bill rose to his feet.

“I'm whipped, you guys. I think I'm gonna pass on dessert.” He said, casually.

He nudged the toe of his boot into Tom's leg and glanced down at Tom with pleading eyes. It could have been very obvious, but he didn't care. He _needed_ it, goddmanit. He needed it right now like he needed to breathe.

Hoping Tom had gotten the message, he turned and started off toward his tent. Relief flooded his veins when he heard Tom tell the group that he too was turning in for the night. Bill kept his head down as he walked across the camp to his tent. Glancing back at the campfire, he saw that no one was looking and sneaked around the back of the tents. He crouched down and slowly made his way around the outside of the circle until he reached Tom's tent. Peeking out around the corner, he saw Tom making his way quickly across the grass, head bent.

Bill stuck his head out farther, “Psst!”

Tom's head jerked up. When he saw Bill, he quickly looked back at the bonfire several times before hurrying around the back of the tent. He hauled Bill off the ground by the waist, and nearly slammed them into the tent.

“What is wrong with you?” He whispered, his fingers squeezing into Bill's hips, “That was so obvious!”

“No it wasn't!” Bill hissed in return, “No one even cared.”

“You should have seen the look on Nora's face.” Tom replied, then arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, we're here now.” Bill shrugged and splayed his hands over Tom's chest to feel out the muscle beneath his shirt.

“Stop it.” Tom ordered, trying to sound commanding and quiet all at once.

“Come on!” Bill huffed and stomped his foot into the ground, “Tom, please! This is killing me!”

“You have no patience.” Tom replied, “It's not going to literally kill you to wait until Monday.”

“No, Tom, I can't!” Bill insisted, nearly to the point of desperation, “Please. . .”

He pressed his body more firmly against Tom's and began to undulate his hips in needy patterns against Tom's crotch, causing their cocks to grind. He was pleased when he felt Tom's give an awakening twitch.

“Bill . ..” Tom began, his tone warning.

Bill threw his arms around Tom's neck and smashed their mouths together, cutting off any further argument. The kiss was all hard, needy movement and teeth as they fought back and forth for control. Bill kept his arms firmly around Tom's neck, holding their faces together and smashing his body rhythmically into Tom's.

When their mouths broke apart at last, Tom was sputtering a few dying arguments and Bill was panting, moaning.

“Tom, oh, please . . .” Bill implored, making huge, desire filled eyes up at Tom's torn expression, “Please, I need you . . . Oh God. . . . fuck, I'm so hot for you . .. “

“Stop.” Tom interrupted, “Stop right now!”

Bill closed his mouth and drew his lower lip between his teeth. He blinked up at Tom, hopefully.

“Get in the fucking tent.” Tom ordered.

Bill could hardly contain his smile as he unzipped the back entrance of the tent and stumbled inside. Tom was on his heels, hands already groping at Bill's ass.

“What happened to no bad language?” Bill teased

Tom glared over his shoulder as he zipped up the tent, “Rules go out the window with you.”

Bill plopped down on Tom's sleeping bag and took his boots off. His fingers were tugging at his belt as Tom joined him, pressing him down against the rough material of the outside of the sleeping bag. Their mouths locked once more and Tom settled down between Bill's eagerly spread legs. His hands petted at Bill's hair, smoothing it back from his flushed cheeks and using it at reins to pull Bill's head back. Bill groaned as Tom's grip tugged at his hair, forcing his neck into exposure. Tom's mouth descended on the soft flesh, causing goosebumps to crop up all over Bill's skin. He bit back an even louder cry of pleasure and lurched his hips into Tom's. Their erections collided, hard and bursting from beneath restrictive material.

Tom thoroughly ravaged Bill's neck before sitting up to tug his shirt off over his head. Bill eagerly lifted his arms and batted the material away, eager for Tom's hands to be on his naked skin. The moment the shirt was gone, Tom's calloused hands began to roam over him, first petting his sides and rubbing his thumbs up against the sharp points of his hipbones, then traveling upward to toy with Bill's nipples. Bill squirmed and panted, fighting back a dozen loud groans as Tom rubbed and pinched his nipples to complete erection before lowering his mouth to one hard, aching point. Bill grabbed onto Tom's hair, weakly trying to push Tom's mouth away as his lips and teeth wreaked sweet torture on the sensitive flesh.

“Tom . . .” Bill managed to whine.

He focused on the ceiling of the tent, trying to breathe, trying not to scream in desire.

Bill's groaning and thrashing seemed to only encourage Tom's ministrations. He sucked hard on the nipple before drawing back to nibble at it with light bites. He did this for several long minutes before crossing Bill's heaving chest to the other one.

“Tom, please . . .” Bill panted, tearing his eyes from the ceiling to gaze down at Tom's mouth, latched firmly to his nipple.

Tom paused for a moment, wet lips hovering over Bill's aching nipple, “You said you wanted me.”

“I do! But, I want . . .” Bill began, rebelliously.

“We're in my tent.” Tom replied with a devious smile, “We'll do it my way.”

Bill huffed and pouted, but had little to argue with.

Tom resumed his sucking and licking, slower this time, dragging it out so that Bill had to writhe in long, tortured silence until he was done. At last, his mouth slid down the dip between Bill's ribs, his stubble causing delightful scrapes across Bill's skin. Bill let out a sigh of pleasure as Tom's fingers worked his belt buckle open and gave the zipper a yank. The pants came down quickly and Bill threw his legs open the moment the material was gone.

Tom gazed down at him, eyes dark and blazing with need. He moved slower when he took Bill's boxers down, his hot gaze eating up each inch of flesh as it was exposed. Bill whined and lifted his hips to urge Tom faster, but Tom kept his own steady pace until the shorts were off his legs.

Bill swallowed against a dry throat as Tom's eyes went up and down his body, admiring each part, but lingering especially hot against his throbbing erection. Bill bit his lower lip and reached a hand down to touch himself, only to gasp out when Tom immediately smacked his hand hard.

“Don't.” Tom ordered, his voice low and rough with desire.

Bill recoiled his hand and lay quivering against the sleeping bag, waiting anxiously for Tom to touch him. He could feel himself throbbing and twitching against his stomach, and knew Tom was watching the blood rage just beneath the surface with barely contained pleasure. He was enjoying watching Bill squirm.

At last, Tom reached up to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. He quickly stripped out of his clothes. Bill watched with wide eyes as Tom unveiled his cock, giving Bill a completely unhindered view of the massive, throbbing rod. Bill almost choked on his own saliva, thinking about that big cock going inside him, ramming into his stretched hole, and making him come with sheer force. He felt the blood rush to his face with that single thought and his dick nearly exploded with desire. He could feel strings of pre-cum dripping from the tip, and knew he wasn't going to last long, whatever Tom chose to do to him first.

Tom moved on his knees in between Bill's legs and leaned over him. Their mouths joined, soft and heated exchanges. Tom's palm skimmed down Bill's arm until he reached his wrist. His fingers wrapped fully around Bill's slender wrist and lifted it over his head. He pulled back slightly and their eyes met, both dark with want. Bill lifted his other arm, submissively and canted his hips upward toward Tom's.

Tom pressed his mouth back against Bill's and arched his hips down. Their cocks brushed lightly at first then Tom pressed harder, and the rigid columns of flesh were chafing hard, almost painful pleasure. Bill gasped into Tom's mouth and went stiff underneath Tom's body, hardly breathing around the intense need swallowing him up.

Their mouths parted and Tom looked down at him with hungry eyes, “I. . . I want to. . .” He began, then cut off, his face coloring.

“Want to what?” Bill replied, breathlessly.

“Put my fingers . . .in you . . .again . . .” Tom admitted, haltingly, his cheeks now the color of roses.

Bill could barely contain his smile, recalling the moment in the barn when Tom's long, rough fingers first penetrated him. He nodded, eagerly, “Okay . . .Yes . . .Yes, I want you to.”

Tom's mouth tugged in a smile, “Okay.”

He sat back, running his hands down Bill's thighs and spreading them open wider.

“Wait.” Bill said.

“What is it?”

Bill sat up and reached out a hand toward Tom's overnight bag, “Let me see that.”

“Why?” Tom asked, though he was already reaching for the bag.

Bill smiled, wickedly as he opened the bag and quickly found what he was looking for. He pressed the bottle of sunscreen into Tom's hand and laid back against the sleeping bag, arching like a feline.

Tom's eyes passed between Bill and the sunscreen for several moments before he began, “You want me to . . .?”

“It will work perfectly.” Bill smiled, “Come on, it's better than going on spit.”

Tom hesitated for only a second longer before shrugging, “Okay.”

He popped open the cap of the sunscreen and squeezed out a small portion. Bill parted his legs wide to accept the cold, wet substance against his entrance. He gritted his teeth, first against the cold, and then the pleasure as Tom's fingers stroked in an arousing circle over the tight ring of muscles, coaxing him to open up. Bill closed his eyes, and let out a breath to relax his body as Tom's fingers rubbed all over his hole. He could feel the tension flee his muscles, allowing Tom's fingertips to slip inside against the slickness of the sunscreen.

“Oh, yes . . .” Bill whispered, urging his hips up against Tom's hand.

Tom lingered against the pucker of flesh for several more torturous moments before pressing one finger forward. Though he was prepared and waiting impatiently, the first penetration still made Bill gasp in pleasure. His hole was forced open, if only a little bit, to accept the invasion, and his made his whole body clench in pleasure.

“Yes, Tom!” Bill panted, undulating his hips against Tom's hand.

Tom slowly withdrew his finger, then pressed it back in, allowing the muscles to close up some before stretching them back open. Bill grabbed onto the edges of the sleeping bag, holding on so tightly that his knuckles blanched white.

Tom picked up a steady rhythm, pumping his finger in and out of the tight, soft heat until the muscles opened up to his touch. Bill moaned and pushed his hips eagerly into Tom's hand, begging for more.

Tom paired a second finger with the first and thrust them both in hard, forcing a strangled cry from Bill's lips. He immediately clamped his mouth shut, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. His body already felt on the verge of exploding with pleasure, and he knew Tom had only just begun.

Tom leaned over him, intently watching Bill's reactions and he fingered the tight, quivering space inside him. Bill could feel his heavy, shallow breaths hot against his cheeks and hear the quiet utterance of a suppressed groan. His mouth slid across Bill's cheek and he groaned into Bill's ear, “I love your ass . . .”

“Ah, yes, Tom. . .” Bill groaned, “Yes, harder .. .”

“You want it hard?” Tom whispered raggedly in his ear.

“Yes!” Bill panted, spreading his legs wider and planting his feet into the ground.

Bill could hardly breathe as Tom's two fingers began to pump harder, aided by the sunscreen. They slid in and out with ease, reaching deep inside Bill to brush occasionally against his prostate. Bill squirmed and moaned, trying to get Tom's fingers up against his pleasure spot again, but failing to keep the pleasuring steady. Tom's fingers were quick and hard, fucking Bill's hole mercilessly and causing him to writhe in silent torture. Bill could feel the screams and moans building up in his chest and wanting to break past his firmly clenched lips. His fingers tore at the bedding, and his heels dug into the ground, pushing himself away from the almost unbearable pleasure.

Bill gasped in shock and arousal when Tom grabbed him by the hip and slammed him back down his thrusting fingers. The penetration went deep to his core, making his whole body spasm with pleasure.

Bill was still reeling when Tom added more sunscreen and slowly sank three fingers into Bill's widening hole. Bill gasped as he felt his body forced open even wider, and his hole become filled with Tom's long, broad fingers. They sank in to the knuckle, and stayed there for a moment, grinding against Bill's prostate. His body twitched uncontrollably and Bill felt the pleasure swelling inside him. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he stiffened. His eyes slammed shut, focusing on the pleasure riding a slow but steady tide toward him.

“Oh . . .ohh . . .” Bill whimpered, his face screwing up in pleasure.

“Come on, baby.” Tom whispered, pressing his fingers in and out, and rubbing in a firm, circular motion against Bill's spot.

Bill's breath caught in his throat when he felt the pleasure finally crest within him. The orgasm hit him hard, swallowing him up fast. His hips began to jerk hard and he reached a wild hand down to grab at his cock. His fingers closed around the rigid flesh, jerking it rapidly until he felt the hot rain of cum spatter his stomach and chest. He clamped his mouth shut, trying to swallow back the moans that stampeded his throat, but a few strangled whimpers still managed to escape.

At last, Bill's body relaxed against the sleeping bag and he slowly opened his eyes to find Tom gazing down at him with bright, aroused eyes.

“God . . .” Bill choked out, looking down his body at the mess of cum he had made all over himself. It was like a geyser going off after years of suppression.

Tom found him some wipes and Bill carefully cleaned away every last drop that had released from his dick.

“That was so good.” Bill whispered, dropping the wipes off to the side. He leaned in and pressed a warm kiss against Tom's mouth, “Thank you.”

Tom's calloused fingers reached up to trace Bill's jawline just as the kiss retreated. His soft, brown eyes seemed to swallow Bill up in a way that made his insides turn and pleasantly weak.

“God, I think. . .” Tom began, his eyes widening.

“What?” Bill replied, surprised to see shock, and then moisture in Tom's eyes.

“I . . . I love you.” Tom whispered, his fingers securing themselves in Bill's hair and dragging him closer.

Bill felt his heart stop. For a moment, he couldn't see or hear anything else but the man sitting in front of him, and the sound of his own heart beating like mad. All at once he felt happy, scared, sick, overwhelmed, and on the verge of tears. He could hardly breathe, much less respond.

What did he say to this sudden proclamation? No one besides his mom ever said those words to him. No one who actually meant them. No one who meant anything to him.

Those three, vital words were reserved for his dreams, where things went right and he was happy. It didn't happen in reality because his life was not that simple, or blessed. He got all the pain and sadness and tears that was left over after other, luckier people got the happy times. He didn't get good things like Tom; not ever.

He wanted to accept it; of course, he wanted to let that love wash over him, drink it in, respond and return the words with fervor. But at the same moment, his faltering heart was struck with an icy fear. With love came a nearly inseparable component of trust; if a person does not trust someone else, how can he love? If he doesn't find love, how can he trust?

Throughout his young life, Bill's trust had been so abused and betrayed, he could hardly find it within himself to trust anyone, even someone who obviously cared so much about him. His first instinct was to run and hide – protect himself.

Bill looked away from Tom's sincere gaze, feeling slightly trapped. He was afraid that if he didn't respond, he would hurt Tom's feelings, or worse – make Tom think Bill didn't feel the same way. Bill felt all the strong, undeniable emotions, the need for intimacy, the emptiness in his heart when they weren't together – all the yearnings that came with love – but he was afraid.

“I'm . .. I'm sorry .. .” Tom murmured, “Maybe that was too fast . . .”

“No, its okay.” Bill interrupted quickly, meeting Tom's anxious eyes, “I'm sorry . . .It's me. . .”

“Hey, it's okay.” Tom reaching out to clasp Bill's cheeks in his hands before Bill could turn away, “You don't have to say anything . . . respond. . .”

Bill closed his eyes firmly, fighting back tears.

“Sorry. . .” He croaked, again.

“Come here,” Tom murmured, pulling Bill into his arms.

Bill willingly went as Tom leaned them back against the sleeping bag. He cuddled lower in Tom's arms, trying to hide the emotion working to distort his face. He hated feeling weak and looking pathetic; hated it even more when the fear he couldn't control was keeping him from being happy with Tom. Their days could very well be numbered, according to Gordon, and here Bill was, trying to screw things up.

“It's okay.” Tom whispered, stroking Bill's hair, “It's okay to be scared.”

Bill felt a lump grow in his throat, and he wished Tom would stop trying to reassure him. The kind words made it even more difficult to get his emotions under control.

“Tom, can we just . . .” Bill began, skimming one hand down Tom's bare chest and stomach.

Tom caught his wrist before his hand could reach it's destination. He looked Bill firmly in the eye, “Are you okay?”

Bill pursed his lips and sniffed back lingering emotion, “Yeah.”

Tom seemed to take his reply under consideration for a few moments before allowing Bill's slender wrist out of the warm circle of his palm. Tom's eyes were warm and dark in the dim lighting of the tent, and in that moment it was as if Tom was holding Bill securely in their embrace. The revolting fear withered slightly in the warmth and energy of Tom's love; a strange feeling of security warmed Bill's insides like hot cappuccino on a cold day.

Bill rose up in Tom's arms, snaring strands of hair and holding Tom's face as he sealed his lips over Tom's. Tom gave a sound of surprise at Bill's attacking him so suddenly, but quickly responded to the kiss. His arms tightened around Bill and he reached up to cradle the back of Bill's head while the kiss progressed into a dance of lips and tongues. Bill ground his body against Tom's, and let out a pleased sigh when he felt the hardness of Tom's cock against his stomach.

Bill drew his mouth away from Tom's and began to slither down the older man's body, letting his hands drag over Tom's chest and stomach. Tom's eyes sparked with desire and his cock gave a visible throb against his belly. He grabbed onto Bill's wrist, but instead of pulling Bill closer, he stopped their progress altogether.

“Are you sure you're okay?” He whispered.

Bill nodded, and batted his eyelashes for good measure.

Tom's fingers gave Bill's wrist a squeeze. He looked ready to say more, but Bill interrupted.

“Let me make you feel good.” Bill said in a low, husky whisper. He let his lips hover over Tom's big, hard cock, blowing hot breaths down the shaft, “You make me feel so good, Tom . . . Let me do it for you.”

Tom groaned and let his head fall back against his pillow. His eyes fluttered closed just as Bill's mouth surrounded his cock. Bill groaned against the hard flesh filling his mouth, enjoying the way it throbbed against his tongue. He circled a hand around the base and began to rub up and down while his mouth glided down to meet his hand.

Above him, Tom groaned a little louder. A trembling hand reached down to touch Bill's head, just cradling it at first, then grabbing onto the hair when the pleasure intensified.

“Ohh . . .” Tom breathed, “Bill . . .”

Bill sucked more ardently, intent on driving the talk of love and fear from both of their minds. He just wanted to focus on the pleasure, on the feeling of someone loving his body, touching him and treating him right. He just wanted to make Tom feel good, make him feel something no one else ever had. He wanted to be the only one Tom wanted – for now, for as long as he could be.

Tom moaned louder and pulled on Bill's hair. Bill resisted for a few moments before allowing Tom to drag his mouth away from his cock.

“What?” Bill smirked.

Tom was breathing hard. He shook his head and covered his face with one hand, “You're going to make me come already.”

“Well, isn't that the point?” Bill asked, tilting his head forward to lick a stripe up Tom's dick before Tom's hand on his hair tightened once more.

“I kind of wanted to enjoy it.” Tom replied, lifting the hand from his eyes, “You know, like how you got to enjoy yours.”

“Oh, right.”

Bill blushed, recalling Tom's fingers inside of him.

“Just. . .” Tom laced his fingers through Bill's hair and tugged his head down, causing Bill's lips to run lightly against the head, “Gentle. . .”

Bill took Tom's cock back into his mouth, this time with less force. He slowly sucked the hot, thick flesh into his mouth. His eyes drifted closed and a moans slipped from his throat to vibrate against Tom's cock.

“Oh yes . . .” Tom hissed.

His fingers curled tighter around Bill's hair and his hips lifted slightly. Moans spilled easily past his parted lips, though quiet enough to keep their activities contained within the tent. Bill watched intently as the pleasure displayed itself on Tom's face, through grimaces and the furrowing of his brow. It took a great amount of self-control not to attack Tom's throbbing manhood as he had at the beginning of the blowjob.

Bill crept a hand between Tom's thighs. He let out a sigh through his nostrils when he felt the the soft, taut flesh of Tom's testicles against his fingertips. Tom reacted with a jolt. The pleasure sent one hand flying to his mouth to keep a louder groan from escaping. His hips rode up against Bill's face as Bill's cupped his balls and gently began to massage them.

Bill lifted his mouth from Tom's cock to catch his breath, but let the thick, wet rod rub against his cheek. Keeping his hand stroking Tom's balls, he cast a heavily lidded gaze up at Tom. Tom looked down at him with a look of intense pleasure and fierce need in his eyes. With a low whine, he grasped Bill's jaw with one hand and guided his cock back between Bill's lips with the other. Bill smirked in delight as Tom force fed him the hard, aching flesh. Had his mouth not been full of cock, he would've come up with something smart to say about “enjoying” it. He liked the idea of getting in trouble with Tom – it was dangerous and far too erotic.

Tom's hips pumped eagerly against Bill's face, but Bill managed to take his big cock without choking. Bill squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on sucking Tom in deep without catching his teeth on it's thickness and keeping his hand fondling Tom's balls. Above him, Tom stiffened and moaned. His fingers went weak in Bill's face before grabbing on hard to the long, dark hair.

“Bill . . . I'm . . .” He panted, his voice becoming mangled with pleasure, “It's . . . it's . . . coming . . .”

Bill put all he had into the last moments before Tom's orgasm, sucking hard and stroking Tom's balls fervently. He could feel Tom's body growing more and more rigid, his fingers trembling around Bill's hair. With a final, low cry, Tom's orgasm exploded inside him, causing his hips to spasm against Bill's face and his fist to grow painfully tight around Bill's hair. Bill moaned in pleasure as he tasted the salty release against his tongue. He swallowed rapidly, while the hot, sticky cum kept spurting abundantly into his mouth.

It seemed to last forever, until finally, Tom sank down against the sleeping bag, exhausted. Bill lifted his head and drew the back of his hand over his mouth. Smacking his lips, he sat up and made a show of dusting his hands off.

Tom's mouth formed a smile and he reached down to pat Bill's knee.

“Expecting a compliment?”

“Well . . . I did just swallow your cum.” Bill replied with a grin.

“True.” Tom said.

He pushed himself upright and gathered Bill into a hug against his chest. He pressed a kiss to Bill's hair and murmured, “Thank you . . . You're amazing.”

Bill felt like his face would crack if he smiled any wider. He turned his face to Tom's and they kissed softly for a few moments, fingertips meeting each other's cheeks.

“Thank you.” Bill whispered, his voice strangled. He shrugged and tried to contain joyful emotion, “This trip isn't so bad now after all.”

Tom chuckled and stroked Bill's cheek lovingly, “You're right. It's not.”

They hugged quietly for several more moments before Tom patted Bill's back and sighed, “You should get back to your own tent. We have an early start tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” Bill grumbled, pressing his cheek more tightly against Tom's chest, “But I'd rather stay here.”

“You know how it would look if everyone saw us coming out of my tent tomorrow morning?” Tom said, disbelievingly.

“I know, I know. I'm going.”

Bill rose from Tom's arms and began to gather his clothes in his arms.

Tom watched Bill dress in silence. He was quiet, but Bill could sense the thoughts spinning behind those warm, brown eyes. He tried to ignore Tom's weighted gaze, but by the time he finished dressing, all he could think about was Tom's confession. “I love you.” He knew it's what Tom was thinking about, but it scared Bill half to death to even approach that topic.

“Okay,” Bill said with a sigh after slipping back into his boots, “I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

Tom crawled over to Bill just as Bill was unzipping the tent. His fingers wrapped warmly, but firmly around Bill's arm, halting him from leaving the tent.

“You know,” Tom said, reaching up to touch Bill's chin, “What I said still stands . . . and I'm not expecting you to say anything back.”

Bill glanced away and pursed his lips. Sudden, raw emotion rose inside him, causing his throat to tighten and his eyes to sting with tears. He sniffed it back and nodded weakly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Tom echoed, as if he didn't believe Bill.

He bent to press a kiss against Bill's cheek, then slowly allowed his mouth to slide over to Bill's mouth. He crushed their lips together, no tongue or teeth, just pressing his love and reassurance in Bill's lips.

When he lifted he mouth, he said, “I love you.”

Bill couldn't think of anything to say in return, much less attempt to speak with the emotion clogging his throat. He nodded again before escaping the tent, and the fragile safety of Tom's arms.

 

~

 

Nora was raised to be intellectual, diligent, and self-assured, while also portraying herself as the beautiful, delicate flower most men wanted to find in a wife. Her father was a business mogul since a young age; he had an IQ over 120, something Nora liked to brag about and suppose that she had inherited.

Like her dad, she knew what she wanted out of life. She grew up in mansions, pent houses, and five star hotels, pampered from babyhood by nannies and her mother alike, given everything her heart desired and tutored by the highest paid professors her father could find. She enjoyed her plush, easy lifestyle and had no intention of giving it up upon marrying into a different family.

For all these reasons – and a few more that had nothing to do with money – Nora had set her sights on Bill Trumper the moment she spotted him from across the lobby upon her arrival for her annual stay at the Miranda Gulch Ranch. She quickly learned from her Aunt Natalie that Bill was the adoptive son of a wealthy land developer with deep pockets. She was hardly dissuaded by the fact that Bill was quite the troublemaker. Just because she was rich and spoiled didn't mean Nora disliked danger or risks. In fact, it turned her on to think about all the things streetwise Bill could show her.

Unfortunately, despite their original meeting, Bill's attentions had waned considerably. When they spoke, he acted as if he barely noticed her and wished for her to go away. The initial thrill of being with a “bad boy” faded when Nora realized just how difficult and plain mean Bill could be.

Two weeks into their stay at the Ranch, Nora's goal had turned from claiming her prize to claiming revenge. And Bill, and the handsome, rugged right hand man to Aunt Natalie, had given Nora plenty of ammunition.

Tom Kaulitz – now there was a piece of work. Nora wasn't happy to admit that she had tried to gain Tom's affections as well, just last summer – frustratingly with even less success than with Bill. It gulled her to realize her efforts with both men had been in vain, because, goddamnit, they were fucking each other!

Honestly, Nora didn't care about gays. What pissed her off was that the two men she had wanted most were having sex together, leaving her out in the cold with nothing. She had the information that would damage them both, and she'd be damned if she didn't use it.

That Saturday night on the camping trip, Bill and Tom inadvertently gave Nora the perfect opportunity to confirm her suspicions.

It was dark, way past midnight, as Nora crept out of her tent, a roll of toilet paper clutched in one hand. Peeing in the woods, behind a tree, was possibly the worst part of the camping trip, but she was willing to do it just this once so that she could further her revenge.

Tip-toeing through the grass, Nora silently made her way past the row of tents until she could see the treeline just a few yards past Tom's and Randy's tents. The two chaperone's tents were situated on either side of the chuck wagon, Tom on the left, Randy on the right. Nora slipped between the chuck wagon and Randy's tent, holding her breath and listening intently. She had to clap a hand over her mouth when she heard what sounded like someone moaning coming from the other side of the chuck wagon.

Holding her toilet paper tight against her chest, Nora crept around the side of the chuck wagon, so that the back of Tom's tent was in sight. She couldn't see anything because it was so dark, but she could detect movement inside the tent. There was a louder moan and the tent nearly shook. Nora's eyes widened, and she almost dropped her toilet paper.

Nora's mind was racing with shock, but also perverted delight. She had found the proof she was looking for . . . Now if only Bill would come out of the tent so that she could prove to Aunt Natalie what Tom was doing with one of the underage guests.

Nora broke away from the side of the chuck wagon and picked her way across the grass to the treeline. She stepped behind the first tree she approached and leaned against the rough bark, drawing in a few deep breaths. Her heart was pounding wildly, her hands shaking with adrenaline. She had to tell herself to calm down before she turned around to peer around the tree trunk.

The distance took away some of the sound, but she could still see movement in the tent. With her ears straining, she barely managed to make out two distinct voices – talking now instead of groaning. She quickly recognized Tom's, since she had known him for several years, but the other voice was quieter and less distinct. It could have been anyone if the audience had been different, but Nora was convinced it was Bill inside that tent with Tom. The way he had left dessert early, only to have Tom follow moments later . . . Everyone else was dumb if they didn't find Bill and Tom's behavior of late suspicious.

Nora didn't wait behind the tree for very long before she saw the two flaps of the tent begin to open. She held her breath, watching the zipper lower to the ground, until a slender figure ducked out of the tent. Even at a distance, and in the dark, Nora was sure of who she was seeing stepping out of Tom's tent. She could have spotted Bill's incredibly long, slim frame and black hair from a mile away.

Nora let out the breath she had been holding and slowly shook her head. A tight, triumphant yet angered smile tugged at her lips, “Oh my god . . .”

She watched as Bill ran and ducked between tents like a ninja, thinking he hadn't been discovered. Thinking he was safe. Thinking he would get back to his own tent without anyone ever knowing that he was fucking Tom Kaulitz. Jesus, what a stupid little whore.

Nora finished doing her business behind the tree and made her way back to the circle of tents with an extra spring in her step. She eyed Bill's tent as she passed it, wishing she could lash out in this very moment. The stupid, rebellious kid had no idea who he was messing with or what Nora was going to do to him for rejecting her. Honestly, Bill Trumper was going to pay big time.

 

 


	17. A Wind Of Change

Day 13

 

When the camping group returned to the main campus Sunday afternoon, they were greeted by Natalie, who ushered them inside for a specially prepared lunch. Tom's stomach growled when he laid eyes on the feast being rolled out to the guests and staff. Food cooked over a campfire could never compare to the talents of the Miranda kitchen staff.

Over lunch, Tom was dragged into conversation with Natalie and Randy about the trip. He barely got to even look at Bill, much less talk to him . . . But Tom's mind was centered on the quiet young man next to him, and the words they had exchanged the night before.

He'd had a lot of time to think about his declaration of love to Bill, and though he may have been impassioned and reckless, he didn't find a hint of untruth in the words. Excluding sex and all the feelings and emotions that came with it, Tom could honestly say that he found himself truly falling for Bill – and falling hard.

He was only worried about Bill. To be honest, it kind of hurt that Bill couldn't say the words in return, but Tom was understanding. He knew from vicious experience that it took a lot to step away from a bad relationship and learn to love and trust again. It had taken him years – six years, in fact – to be willing to give his heart to someone again. Bill was still so young, yet so damaged. However long it took him to completely trust, to completely accept Tom's love, Tom was willing to wait. He was no longer concerned about their time constraints or the distance that would separate them once Bill went back home to L.A. Tom was determined to find a way for them to be together.

When lunch finally ended and the dishes were being cleared away, Bill rested his elbows on the table and glanced over at Tom hopefully, “Do you have chores to do?”

Tom shook his head, “Nope, some of the other guys finished things up since I was gone this weekend.”

Bill's eyes brightened, “So, you're free?”

“Yeah, until tonight. I usually help the departing guests get their things packed for tomorrow morning.”

“Cool.” Bill grinned, then bit coyly at his lower lip, “So . . . you wanna . . . go somewhere?”

Tom glanced around the crowded mess hall, noted that no one was paying attention to them, and leaned closer to Bill, “My cabin or yours?”

“Yours, silly.” Bill laughed, “Peter will be in mine.”

“I know,” Tom said with a chuckle, nudging Bill in the ribs with his elbow, “I'm just playing.”

“Okay, I want you to play with me.” Bill said, his voice hushed but clearly suggestive, “Let's go.”

They eagerly rose from the table, only to be interrupted by Peter's chiding tone.

“Where are you two going?”

Bill turned, glaring rebelliously at his guardian, “Riding lessons, remember? We missed a couple of days. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Right.”

“Can I go now?” Bill said, sarcastically.

Peter held a hand toward the door, indicating that Bill could be excused.

“Thanks.” Bill said, dryly.

Seeing venom in the nanny's eyes, Tom offered a civil nod of thanks. Peter's glare only darkened, and Tom turned to hurry after Bill with a sick feeling sprouting in his belly.

When they reached the front steps of the main house, Tom caught up to Bill and lightly wrapped his fingers around the boy's forearm, “Bill.”

“Yeah?” Bill asked with an easy smile, all rebellious and angry temperament gone.

“Do you think it's a good idea to talk that way to Peter?” Tom asked, cautiously.

“What do you mean?” Bill said with a shrug, “That's how I always talk to him. He's not my parents, or my boss.”

“But he is reporting to Gordon.” Tom pointed out.

Bill's brow twisted into a small frown, “But he doesn't know anything . . .”

Bill's rapid pace slowed to a near halt, and he suddenly looked sick, “He doesn't know anything, right?”

“Maybe he doesn't have proof . . .” Tom said, softly, pulling Bill around to face him, “But he has eyes. I don't think it's possible for us to hide how we feel about each other.”

“Shit.” Bill whispered, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, “Shit. Fuck.”

“I think we need to be more careful, knowing that Gordon is trying to find dirt on me.” Tom suggested, as gently as possible, “Maybe not run off so fast together after lunch, or be so rude to Peter.”

“You're right.” Bill whispered, miserably, “It's not beyond him to even lie to Gordon . . . Make shit up.”

“Okay, look, it's hasn't happened yet.” Tom said, laying his hands on Bill's shoulders, “The next video conference isn't until Thursday. Let's just lay low until then, keep things good with Peter, and see what happens.”

“How can you say that?” Bill demanded, taking a step back, “See what happens? What if what happens is that Peter gives Gordon a bad report and we're banned from seeing each other!?”

“Then we can't do a damn thing about it.” Tom replied, firmly, “All we can do is do our best to stay together. We're never gonna survive this if we don't have trust and faith in this relationship.”

Bill closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He let it out slowly, and held his hands to his pounding heart, “Shit . . . I'm sorry. You're right.”

“Okay.” Tom said, letting out slow breath, “We're halfway there now, so let's go to my cabin like we planned.”

Bill nodded, “Okay.”

They walked the rest of the way to Tom's cabin in silence. Tom wanted to reach over and put his arm around Bill, and hold him securely to let him know things would be okay. He wanted to at least hold Bill's hand.

In this moment, Tom was struck by the enormity of the situation he was taking on for the sake of being with Bill. Bill was a minor; though old enough to consent, he could still be legally ripped away from Tom by his parents. Gordon had deep pockets, probably deep enough to reach to court and get Tom in trouble. He might even be able to go so far as get the Ranch in trouble . . . And Tom hated to admit it, but his own troubled past could cause conflict if brought to light. He never wanted to rehash the horrid occurrences of six years ago, but with an inkling of fear, he knew he might have to.

Despite all of these problems, Tom was certain of his desires. No matter how much they might have to go through to be together, Tom was willing to face it all for Bill. Bill was the only one to make Tom feel loved, alive, worthy . . . To make him feel like a human being, not just a body functioning through day to day life. He was sure he loved Bill, and despite Bill's damaged heart and inability to trust just yet, Tom had faith that Bill felt the same way.

 

~

 

“I'm telling you -” Nora repeated, for probably the fourth time, “They are fucking.”

Bill and Tom had just escaped out of the mess hall as soon as lunch was over. Nora was convinced they were going off to have sex. She could see the looks on their faces. Hell, she had been around the block a time or two; she knew what a horny guy looked like.

Valerie, one of the guests Nora had befriended on the Ranch, stared back at her with huge, blue eyes, “You mean . . .?”

Nora sighed loudly, “Yes. I mean, like sex.”

“That's gross!” Samantha, Valerie's sister exclaimed, “Two guys.”

Nora crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. Arching one brow, she said, “I don't care if Bill is fucking his horse, or even _you,_ Valerie. I care that he's not fucking me.”

Valerie shut her stupid mouth and put her head down.

“So. . .” Samantha, the smarter of the two leaned closer, “What are you gonna do?”

“What am I going to do?” Nora echoed in disdain, “I'm going to find a way to make their lives hell.”

“Why don't you just tell Natalie? She's your aunt. She'll believe you.” Samantha suggested.

“No.” Nora waved a hand, “Aunt Natalie and Tom are besties. She'll find a way to protect him even if she doesn't like him fucking one of the guests.”

“Oh yeah.” Samantha made a face.

“What about that guy that came here with Bill?” Valerie spoke up, “Isn't he like a guardian or something? Tell him.”

“No.” Nora snapped, “No, no, no!”

“What?” Valerie shrank into her chair.

“It's not good enough!” Nora said, her voice climbing rapidly through the octaves, “It has to be personal. I really just want to make him suffer.”

Valerie's eyes widened when Nora mimed choking someone's neck with both hands.

“Whoa, whoa.”

Nora spun around in her chair when the deep, charming voice interrupted her ranting. She was working up a proper protest for interrupting her when she realized she was gazing up at Dirk McAllister . . . Bill's arch nemesis.

“Can I help you?” She asked, primly.

Dirk pulled out one of the empty chairs at their table and made himself at home.

“You're talking about Bill Trumper, aren't you?” He asked, a sly smirk on his face.

Nora narrowed her eyes, “Wouldn't you like to know.”

“Actually, I would.” Dirk said, smacking a hand down on the table, “But you see, I can finish planning that little asshole's downfall without you.”

Dirk rose to leave, but Nora reached out to grab his tanned arm, “Wait.”

He looked down at her with an arched brow, “Yes?”

“You're trying to make Bill pay?” She asked, hoping to not sound desperate.

“Yeah, that kid has been a thorn in my side for three fucking years of high school.” Dirk replied, “Now we get out here, and he thinks he can keep on getting me in trouble with that self-righteous, slimy cowboy to protect him. Fuck no.”

“So . . .” Nora said slowly, rising from her chair to face Dirk, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Dirk reached out to lay a single finger under Nora's chin, “So it would seem.”

 

~

 

Bill's eyelids slowly drifted open as he was awakened from sleep by the sound of the shower running. His sleep weighted limbs barely functioned when he rolled over to find his bearings. A drowsy smiled formed on his lips, recalling what he and Tom had been doing for the past two hours. They had each come twice, then collapsed in a heap of weary, entangled limbs, and whispered back and forth until falling asleep. Bill was absolutely satisfied.

Bill took his time waking from the nap before crawling from the warm sheets to peek out the window. The sun was beginning to go down, casting a golden glow across the distant treeline and the rolling hills that encompassed the ranch. Bill gave a quiet sigh and smiled softly.

No matter how much shit was coming down on him from his parents, Peter, Dirk, Nora . . . anyone – they couldn't touch what he and Tom had here. This cabin was their sanctuary, the place where they kissed and touched, made love . . . Why was it so hard to admit that to himself? That he was in love with Tom; that he didn't want anyone else; that he couldn't live without Tom. He felt it, but when he tried to say it, it was as if a gag was shoved down his throat.

Bill turned away from the window and walked over the pile where their clothes lay. He found his jacket, and reaching into the left pocket, pulled out a small leather-bound notebook. It was no bigger than the size of his palm, but there were quite a few pages – marked and clean – packed between the covers.

Bill had begun keeping the journal two years ago – right before he and his parents moved from New York to Los Angeles. It had come as a suggestion from a therapist a year earlier, but Bill preferred to think he began writing his thoughts down of his own accord. Though the journal did provide an outlet for the emotions he couldn't express to anyone else, he hadn't been willing to admit that the therapist from three years ago was right.

Slapping the little book against his palm, Bill circled the room, hunting for a pen. He hadn't written in the book since the night by the lake, but he felt the need to put these feelings into words. He was only slightly relieved that he was running to the journal to release positive energy instead negative for the first time.

Walking to the desk shoved into the corner of the room, Bill pulled the drawer open and stuck a hand inside. He moved his palm around, the bottom, searching underneath folders and papers, but not finding a pen. He froze when his fingertips encountered a sharp, metal corner, and little pane of glass. Bill glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door; it was still closed but he couldn't hear the shower running.

Unable to stand the curiosity, Bill quickly pulled the picture frame out from underneath a ream of papers and other various trinkets. He felt his heart drop and his whole body freeze in shock.

Nora had informed him that Tom had been married before, but she had never mentioned what the picture so clearly revealed. It may have been logical, or even obvious, but the thought had never crossed Bill's mind.

The photo depicted a young lady with highlighted blond hair, parted blandly down the middle and cut up around her jaw. The unattractive haircut, however, did nothing to hide her attractive features. Despite her beautiful face, she was barely smiling. But what shocked Bill the most was the sight of the little girl, no more than two years old, seated on her lap. The girl had blond ringlets all over her head and huge blue eyes. She was leaned forward in the lady's lap, one tiny hand outstretched toward the camera, while her mouth was stretched into a joyful grin.

“Where did you find that?”

Bill almost dropped the picture when Tom's voice jolted him back to reality. He spun around, choking on his words.

“I'm sorry-. . .I was just . . .”

Tom broke away from the doorway of the bathroom and strode over next to Bill. His eyes were clouded with dark emotion and his jaw was locked but quivering. He snatched the picture from Bill's hand and shoved it back into the drawer. Bill jumped when he slammed the drawer closed harder than necessary.

Tom turned away, covering his face with one hand.

“Tom, I'm sorry.” Bill whispered, repentantly.

He reached out a quivering hand to touch Tom's back. Tom barely reacted, but Bill could hear him breathing hard, on the verge of tears.

“I wasn't trying to snoop through your things.” Bill said, fighting back a wave of tears.

He wanted to kick himself. He should have known that looking at Tom's things without permission would upset the other man; hell, Bill knew if Tom looked at any of Bill's private things, he would be furious.

Tom slowly turned away. His eyes were glossy, but he had managed to get his emotions under control.

“It's okay.” He said, his voice quiet and rough, “I just . . . I was hoping that you'd never . . . know.”

“Know what?”

“Never mind.” Tom shook his head, “What do you need?”

“I was just looking for a pen.” Bill murmured, staring at his feet, “I'm really sorry.”

Tom laid a gentle hand on Bill's cheek, guiding his eyes back up, “I shouldn't be so careless with my secrets.”

Bill wanted to ask what was so secret about having a previous relationship, or even a child, but he knew he couldn't pry any further. Just the sight of the photo had upset Tom greatly.

Tom reached over and snatched a pen from a coffee mug filled with an assortment of other trinkets.

“Here's a pen.” Tom said, pressing it into Bill's hand, “I'm not mad. Just . . . next time, ask.”

“I will.” Bill whispered, feeling his face burn with embarrassment.

Without another word, Tom turned and walked back into the bathroom to dress and brush out his hair. Bill set the pen down and put his journal back in his pocket, no longer feeling the urge to write down his overwhelming feelings for Tom.

When Tom came back into the room, Bill was lying on the bed, hugging one of the pillows.

“You want to get in there before you head back to your cabin?” Tom asked, hooking thumb back towards the bathroom.

“Can I ask you something?” Bill asked, in a whisper.

Tom swallowed hard, but gave a shrug, “Sure . . . there's no guarantee I can answer it, though.”

“I just wondered . . .” Bill said, barely meeting Tom's eye, “Have you ever . . . I mean, been with . . . another guy before? I know you said you hadn't had sex with a guy before, but that doesn't mean you didn't have feelings . . . or mess around, or want to . . .”

Tom's brows furrowed. With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to Bill and patted Bill's bare thigh, “No. You're my first.”

“How can you just . . . change, like that?” Bill asked, confused.

“Look,” Tom said, softly, “I didn't get into the relationship for sex. I'm a lot older than you, been with different people, made some bad choices in different relationships . . . I'm here for you. Not your gender, or what you can give me in bed.”

Bill pursed his lips and nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“Don't ever think I'm only with you for sex.” Tom added, his voice tender and loving, “I love you for you.”

Bill leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Tom's waist. Ducking his head against Tom's chest, he murmured, “I'm sorry if she broke your heart.”

Bill could feel Tom's body go stiff, but he didn't let go. At last, Tom gave a sigh and returned the hug tightly.

“Yeah, she did.” He replied, his voice quiet and strained, “But, she did a lot worse. She threw it on the ground and stomped on it after I was already sorry for-”

His words cut off into a choked sob and Bill lifted wide eyes to see Tom crying for the first time. It shook Bill to see his strong, stable, dependable Tom, the rock of their relationship, revealing such vulnerability.

Bill crawled up to straddle Tom's lap and wrapped his arms around Tom's neck in a clinging embrace. Tom's arms surrounded his middle, crushing Bill against his chest; he buried his face in the warmth of Bill's neck until the emotion had subsided.

He carefully lifted Bill off his lap and rose from the bed. He paced away, looking almost lost. They shared a strained silence for several moments, before Tom gave a shrug.

“It was six years ago. I've gotten past it.”

Bill frowned, wanting to question the truth of that statement, but he figured he had already asked too many questions tonight.

“You should get a shower before you head back to your cabin for the night.” Tom suggested, barely meeting Bill's gaze.

“Right.” Bill murmured.

He rose from the bed and headed toward the bathroom.

He was feeling more confused than ever and he wanted to have some privacy to organize his thoughts. He had never wondered about Tom's past; now, he worried it might affect their relationship more than he could bear. Underneath the kind, yet commanding face of a leader, there was hiding a broken man with more scar tissue than was healthy. It hurt to know Tom couldn't share it with Bill; hurt even more to know that it was Bill's own fault for not finding the courage to trust Tom with a few simple words like, “I love you.”

 

 


	18. The Cat's Out of The Bag

Day 14

 

“Are you sure about this?”

Tom directed the question at Bill, who sat on the front steps of his cabin, smoking like a chimney. The cigarette between his fingers was disappearing faster than he could keep up with.

“Good morning to you, too.” Bill said, smiling wryly up at Tom.

Tom sighed as he looped Tony's reins around the porch railing. He sat down next to Bill and perused the early morning blue sky, brightened by the sun as it was climbing to it's zenith.

“You know what I mean.” He said, glancing anxiously at Bill.

Bill slowly licked his lips and squinted against the midday sun, “Yeah.”

It was Monday. Today, Tom was supposed to make the monthly errand run into town with Randy and a few of the other guys in order to restock supplies that couldn't be brought in on the delivery truck . . . This month, Tom was also going to buy a few “special” things for he and Bill.

After their conversation last night, Tom's confidence was shaken.

Bill took a drag of his cigarette and flicked ashes on the ground. He ran the toe of his boot through the dirt, squelching the ashes even further.

“My feelings haven't changed.” He said, softly.

Tom put his hand on Bill's back and leaned a little closer, feeling relieved to hear those words.

“Neither have mine.”

Bill met Tom's eyes, frowning, “What makes you think that picture changed my feelings?”

Tom sighed and shook his head, “Never mind-”

“No.” Bill said, sharply, “You don't get to do that.”

Tom drew back, brows furling when Bill jumped to his feet, looking almost angry.

“Do what?” Tom demanded.

“Act like it didn't happen. Sweep your past and your wounds under the rug.” Bill replied, cutting a hand through the air, “I told you about Gordon because you practically made me. You don't get to hide what's happened to you because I don't have the power to force you.”

“That's not fair.” Tom said, quietly.

“If it's going to get between us, then it is.” Bill said, firmly.

“It won't.” Tom ground out, staring at the dusty ground under his boots.

“You were married.” Bill pointed out, “I think that affects us – in that, you were married to a girl and now you're fucking a boy.”

“I am past that, okay!” Tom jumped up from the steps to face Bill evenly, “It's not about you being a boy or a girl, or did you not hear me say that, last night!?”

Bill took a step back, his eyes clouding with moisture. He wrapped his arms around himself and glared at Tom.

Tom sighed and let his hands fall limp to his sides.

“I'm sorry.” He said, quietly, “I didn't mean to yell.”

“She's still affecting you.” Bill said after several beats of silence, “How long did you tell me that you have been living on this ranch? Six years?”

Tom pursed his lips and glanced in the direction of the endless, rolling hills until they met the shimmering horizon. The last thing he had wanted when he began this relationship was to explain his marriage to Bill. Now, on the verge of what he had hoped to make the consummation of their love, he was cornered by his young lover.

“You're not over it.” Bill added, softly, not a hint of accusation in his tone. He simply sounded . . . sad.

“There's things you don't know.” Tom replied, his voice choked. He could feel his heart shudder, just saying those words.

“Then tell me.” Bill replied, reaching out to touch Tom's chest, “You don't have to be afraid that I'll judge you or run away . . .”

“I know that.” Tom said, firmly, redirecting his gaze to Bill's wide, brown eyes, “I just . . . can't.”

Bill's brows furrowed, but he didn't argue. Instead, his eyes iced over and he gave a flippant shrug, “Okay, fine, Tom. But I still want to fuck your brains out.”

Flicking his cigarette to the ground, he brushed past Tom and stomped up to the front steps. Tom was so shocked by the cold response, that it took him several moments to react. His heart froze and his stomach dropped; all at once he wanted to throw up, scream, cry and hit something with his bare fists. He couldn't lose Bill, not to his own pride and pain. He had been in denial since the beginning, thinking he could keep his past from Bill. It would be his own fault if he let the boy walk away now.

Breaking free of his trance, Tom spun and chased Bill up the steps, only catching up to him once they were through the front door of Bill's cabin.

“Bill, wait.” Tom pleaded, grasping Bill's shoulder and pulling him about, “Please, don't do that.”

“Do what?” Bill said, folding his arms and arching one brow.

“Act this way to me.” Tom whispered, feeling emotion choke his throat, “Act like you don't care.”

“Look, everyone has shit they keep a secret.” Bill replied, lifting his shoulders, “I guess I can't get mad at you for doing it. I do it too.”

“So . . .” Tom held out his hands.

“So,” Bill said, cocking his head to one side, “Do you wanna keep doing this? Because I can deal with shit. If you can't, your loss.”

“I've been dealing for six years.” Tom replied, “By myself. It's just hard . . .”

“I know.” Bill replied, quietly, “I'm sorry.”

Tom rubbed a hand over his face and drew in a deep breath, still feeling like he was suffocating.

“I don't want sympathy. Never have.”

“Good. Because I'm not your mommy.” Bill replied, “And you're not my therapist, so neither of us have to worry.”

Tom chewed at his lower lip, and met Bill's gaze carefully. He could see that Bill's guard was up; maybe the boy was being truthful, maybe he wasn't. Maybe Tom didn't care.

He was so on the edge of not giving a shit anymore. He was tired of waking up every day with the burden of his wrong doings, and the knowledge that most of the people from his old life still hated him. He despised the fact that he was hiding out here on this ranch – still. And it really got to him that he was utterly alone, despite what Natalie tried to tell him.

He was sick of all of that. He just wanted someone in his arms, a warm body next to him in bed, a loving face to wake up to. He didn't want to rehash his previous life and relationship. But how could he explain all that to a seventeen year old kid?

Tom reached out and gently laid his fingertips on Bill's cheek. Bill blinked rapidly for a few moments before stepping closer. His eyes turned warm and intoxicating, in that subtle but paralyzing sort of way that he had nailed down.

Tom slid his fingers through the fine strands of hair and cradled the back of Bill's head, drawing him closer. Bill gave a quiet, breathless sigh just as their mouths joined. His hands slowly rose to touch Tom's chest, absorbing the warmth for a moment before clutching Tom's shirt.

For a moment, the cabin was quiet except for Bill's gentle, almost inaudible moans and the sounds of their lips caressing.

When Tom broke the kiss, he was pleased to see a flush on Bill's cheeks and a familiar, loving twinkle in his eyes.

“I love you.” Tom whispered, “And I want to show that to you in the best way I know how.”

Bill swallowed hard, his lashes beating against his rosy cheeks, “I . . You . . .want . . .”

Tom grasped Bill's hips and pulled their bodies flush together. He kissed Bill's mouth firmly and whispered in a rushed and husky tone, “I want to make love to you.”

Bill's lips opened wider and Tom thought he heard the boy choke.

Tom's curled his fingers tighter behind Bill's neck and pressed his mouth against Bill's ear to whisper, “I want to take you, and make you mine.”

Drawing a sharp breath, Bill clutched Tom's shirt tighter. His hips urged against Tom's, and Tom could feel both of them growing hard against one another.

Tom drew back to give Bill another kiss when they both heard the sound of footsteps on the front porch. Tom immediately released Bill, and Bill jumped back, turning white with horror.

“Shit.” He hissed as the front door swung open.

Peter froze in his steps when he saw Tom standing in the cabin with Bill. The nanny's face went from recognition, to shock, to confusion, to disapproval in only a few seconds.

“Mr. Kaulitz.” Peter said, frowning deeply, “What are you doing here?”

“I was just talking to Bill about riding lessons.” Tom lied with a charming smile, “I'll be heading out to town with some of the other guys this afternoon for our monthly supply run, so Bill and I will have to move some things around.”

“Is that right?” Peter said, suspiciously.

“Yes, sir.” Tom replied with a nod, “And we've got a new roster of guests coming in today, so my schedule is full.”

“Seems like Bill has been taking quite a few riding lessons from you.” Peter observed with a calculating glare, “How many days a week do these lessons happen?”

“Oh, you know . . .” Tom shrugged, “Practice makes perfect. We get out there whenever we can.”

“Yeah, I only have a month to learn everything.” Bill interjected with a winning smile, “Tom knows a lot about horses.”

“I see.” Peter gave a slow nod, and fixed his gaze directly on Tom, “Since you're gonna be busy the rest of the day, how about we have a private conversation right now, Mr. Kaulitz?”

“I'm sorry, you want . . .?” Tom began, trying to keep the nervousness off his face.

“How about we step outside?” Peter suggested, plastering a cordial smile on his face.

“Oh . . . ok. I mean, I should be getting going but-”

“It'll only take a minute.” Peter assured. He waved a hand toward the door, “This way?”

Tom felt his stomach begin to churn. He could only hope that Peter wasn't going to nail his ass to the wall the moment they got outside. How much did the nanny know? Was it only suspicions, or had the truth somehow declared itself to Peter?

Bill watched, white as a sheet, as Tom and Peter walked out the front door. The moment the door shut, he rushed to the window and huddled down below it in order to hear the conversation.

“What can I do for you?” Tom asked with a pleasant smile as he and Peter descended the porch steps.

“You're Bill's friend?” Peter questioned, with a raised brow.

“Well, I've only known him for what . . .? Two – two and a half – weeks? But, um, yeah, I guess you could say we're friends.” Tom replied, casually.

“He's charming isn't he?” Peter said, with a faint smile, “When he wants to be.”

“Yes, smart, handsome kid. He's a real winner.” Tom agreed.

“That's funny.” Peter replied, though his expression contained little amusement.

“I'm sorry?”

“That you say you're friends with Bill because he's good looking.” Peter pointed out, his tone dripping with accusation and questioning.

“I . . That's not exactly . . .” Tom argued, holding out a hand to halt Peter's conclusions, “I'm just saying, he's a likable kid.”

“Hmm.” Peter murmured with a mirthless smile, “What did he do that made you think that? Did he offer you something? A blowjob in return for what?”

“Excuse me?” Tom demanded, feeling his face grow hot with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, “I don't think that's appropriate-”

“Let me tell you something.” Peter said, all pleasantries giving way to a cold, angry look in his eyes, “That boy is not your friend – no matter what he says or does for you.”

Tom felt a frown curl his brow, and the urge to hit Peter rise up inside him. But he tamped it down and tried to keep a straight face. He couldn't blow their cover because the nanny said something completely untrue and mean.

“Do you know how many times his parents have hauled his ass out of lock up, or saved him from getting thrown in juvie?” Peter questioned, pinning Tom with a narrowed gaze, “Do you know how many times he has gotten in trouble for having sexual relations with other kids at his school?”

“Everyone has done their share of misbehaving in high school.” Tom replied, coolly, though he could feel the heat rising up his chest and neck.

“It's not misbehaving.” Peter said, firmly, “It's just the way he is, and it's never gonna change.”

“I'm sorry, I don't agree with you.” Tom said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“You think you can change him?”

“Maybe.”

Peter gave a disbelieving snort and shook his head, “What do you want with him, Kaulitz? He's not the kid that participates in your group activities here on the ranch, and he's not the kind of kid that wants to get involved with people he'll only get to know for a month. He's an antisocial, introverted, and rebellious fuck up. You don't want to have anything to do with him. End of story.”

Peter turned to walk away. He was shaking his head in disgust, and Tom could read every negative thought now rushing through the man's head in reference to his young charge. Tom could feel the anger boiling his chest, churning hotter and faster, threatening to break free.

“Hey!” Tom snapped, storming after the departing nanny, “That is not the end of the fucking story!”

Peter spun around, and this time Tom could see the anger and distrust plain as day.

“What the hell do you want with Bill, Kaulitz?” Peter shouted, stabbing a finger in the direction of the cabin, “You want to touch him? Do you like little boys? Because I can sure as hell give Mr. Trumper that report!”

“Fuck you!” Tom growled, charging toward Peter with his fist lifted.

“Is that a yes?” Peter demanded, barely flinching as Tom's fist stopped just short of his face, “You're a demented pervert trying to get his hands down Bill's pants?”

“No!” Tom yelled, now shaking his rage, “That's a fucking lie. I only want what's best for Bill. No one in that kid's terrible life has ever given him the time of day to listen when he cries, and when he's hurting. No one cares what happens to him. And guess what? Maybe that's the reason he's such an 'antisocial, rebellious, fuck up'. Nobody gives a damn – well, I do. And your disgusting and unfounded accusations aren't going to change that.”

Both men halted, not breaking their locked gaze and breathing hard. The face off lasted for several intense moments before Peter took a step back and straightened his jacket.

“I believe you.”

Tom sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly, “You . . .?”

“I believe that you want what's best for Bill.” Peter replied, “And to be honest, it's really sad that someone he's known for less than a month cares more about him than people he's known for years.”

“But . . .” Tom scraped a hand through his hair, “I thought you thought I was . . .”

“Molesting him?” Peter arched a brow, “I'm not to the bottom of this, Kaulitz, and trust me, I won't stop looking. But as far as I'm concerned, you haven't done anything with Bill against his will.”

Without another word, Peter turned and walked away. Tom stood on the grass, staring after the man, his head spinning with confusion. Peter had basically admitted that he knew Tom and Bill were having sexual relations, and yet, he was choosing not to turn Tom into disgusting pedophile taking advantage of his charge.

There was a loud squeak as Bill flung the screen door open and rushed down the porch steps.

“What happened?” He demanded, breathlessly, “I couldn't hear everything but it sounded like you were fighting! Does he know?”

“I don't know.” Tom replied, quietly.

“Shit.” Bill whispered, curling his fingers through his hair.

“This isn't over.” Tom said, shaking his head, “He's not done watching us.”

“So what now?” Bill asked.

Tom did his best to smile as he put his arm around Bill's shoulders.

“We have a week left. Let's make the best of it.”

 

~

 

The weekly barn dance was in full swing when Tom and the other guys returned from their trip into town. Tom appointed some of the hands to put the supplies away while he departed to find Bill. The special things he had bought for he and Bill were safe in his cabin, but it weighed on his mind as if the purchases were burning a hole in his pockets.

Entering the barn, Tom was greeted by the din of music, voices, and a laughter, and the rapid steps of guests on the dance floor. He felt a dim smile cross his lips, recalling that it had now been a week since he and Bill had begun their sexual relationship. It still boggled his mind how Bill had drawn him in, hook, line, and sinker. Last week, he had been trying his best not to feel attracted to Bill – this week, he was fully prepared to truly consummate their relationship.

Tom scanned the crowd and quickly located Bill. Sitting in a corner by himself, Bill absently sipped a glass of punch and scrolled through his phone as if he was busy. He was wearing a pair of boldly retro, pin-striped bell-bottoms, and a turtle neck with extremely thick cuffs and collar. His hair was smoothed down and glowing in the candle light, and his eyes were smoky with gray makeup. Tom felt a squeeze of desire low in his tummy. He wished he could take Bill right now – just grab him out of that seat, throw the boy over his shoulder and usher him outside where Tom would rip those tight pants off Bill's delicious little rump and sink his cock into the embracing heat . . .

Tom blinked rapidly, jolted from his momentary fantasy when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Kaulitz?”

His gaze swung to his left to see a young lady with platinum blond hair and bright blue eyes standing at his elbow.

“You're Mr. Kaulitz?” She questioned once more.

“Um . . . Yes. Yes, ma'am.” Tom replied, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Hi.” She smiled sweetly and stepped in front of him, cutting off his view of Bill, “I'm Tiffany.”

“Hi, Tiffany. Nice to meet you.” Tom replied, kindly, though he wished the girl would move out of his way.

“I heard you give riding lessons.” She continued, blinking her lashes coyly.

Tom felt a frown crease his brow when Tiffany stepped closer. She was wearing a very small, tight dress that allowed her breasts to practically burst from the neckline. She was shoving them toward his chest just as he realized she was implying riding lessons that had nothing to do with horses.

“I'm here for two weeks, so I was thinking I should get acquainted with how to ride.” She continued, biting her lower lip, “And I hear you're the expert.”

“Well, um . . .” Tom stuttered, glancing around for a means of escape, “I am the vice president of the ranch, but we do give group lessons every afternoon at three o'clock. Randy is in charge of that.”

“Oh,” She replied, sticking her lower lip out, “I was hoping for more of a . . . private lesson.”

“I'm sorry, my schedule is full.” Tom said, quickly, “Excuse me.”

He brushed around the young lady before she could back him farther into a corner. Flustered, he nearly ran into a couple as they spun around the dance floor.

“Sorry.” He muttered, and kept walking in the direction of Bill.

He was halfway across the dance floor, when he looked over his shoulder, wondering exactly who the girl was. His heart nearly stopped when he saw Nora and Dirk greeting Tiffany. The two teens were holding hands, looking very much like a couple. As if on cue, all three young people looked up at Tom, burning into him from across the room. The slow, smug smile that curled Nora's lips made Tom shudder for a reason he couldn't explain.

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe he was being paranoid because Peter was closing in on them. Maybe he was crazy, but he thought for sure he could see Nora's lips form the words, “Got you.”

Tom gasped as he slammed into someone. Looking over his shoulder at Nora and Dirk, he hadn't even been watching where he was walking.

“Hello!” Bill waved a hand directly in front of Tom's face as Tom's head swiveled to see who he had run over.

“Oh, sorry.” Tom apologized, grasping Bill's shoulders to steady him, “I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“Yeah.” Bill smiled, briefly, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That girl.” Bill pointed out with an arched brow, “I saw her corner you.”

“Oh, that.” Tom shook his head, “She just wanted riding lessons . . . Don't worry, I have had more than one girl try to interpret that a different way.”

Bill's brow furrowed and he pursed his lips, “She was hitting on you.”

“Yeah, but I brushed her off, so don't worry about it.” Tom said, leading them away from the dance floor.

Bill glanced over his shoulder at Tiffany, who was still glowering from across the room.

“I'll take that bitch out.” He said, his voice low and possessive.

“No need to do that.” Tom soothed, patting Bill's shoulder, “She's just a dumb teenager wanting to have fun. Like I said, it's happened before.”

“It's not about your perception, Tom.” Bill replied, firmly, “It's about that whore stepping up on what's mine. I'm not afraid to hit a girl.”

“No, no, no.” Tom interrupted, pointing a finger at Bill, “That is not going to happen. I don't want anymore fights on this ranch, do you hear me?”

Bill made an impressively rebellious pouting face and crossed his arms, “Yes, sir.”

Tom smiled, lightly, “That's more like it.”

They were quiet as Tom grabbed a cookie and some punch from the refreshment table. They wandered over to a mostly deserted corner of the barn and watched as other couples danced to the lively music.

At last, Bill cleared his throat and turned a questioning gaze on Tom.

“So, did you get the stuff?”

Tom chewed slowly on a bite of cookie, and nodded his head.

Bill drew in a breath and flushed light pink at the thought. Biting back a smile, he nudged Tom in the ribs with his elbow and whispered, “We should just do it tonight.”

“That's not a good idea.” Tom replied.

“Why not?” Bill argued in a whisper, “I want it now.”

“Because, we're at a group event, and I'm supposed to be present for it.” Tom replied, “I really shouldn't be sneaking off at all.”

Bill let out an impatient sigh, “So, when?”

“Tomorrow, when I have free time, and no one is looking for either one of us.” Tom said, firmly.

Bill shook his head, “I don't think I can wait that long, Tom.”

“Yes you can.” Tom replied with an amused smile, “You've waited this long. You can wait one more day.”

“God, how can you be so calm about it?” Bill demanded, crossing his arms tight over his chest and gritting his teeth, “I'm freaking out.”

“Believe me, I'm 'freaking out'.” Tom replied, making air quotes, “I'm just trying to be smart and responsible about it . . . I am responsible for you, you know.”

Bill smiled, sweetly, “I know I'm in good hands.”

Tom chuckled, “That you are.”

The party last for another hour before things began to wind down for the night. Bill, who had been fidgety all night, began to quietly pester Tom, “Can we go now? Everyone is starting to leave.”

Tom glanced around the barn, littered with straw, empty plates, cups, and wadded up napkins. Typically, he stayed behind to help clean things up; in fact, he was usually the last to leave. Before Bill's arrival, he hadn't had anything else to occupy him except his duties on the ranch. Those things he had once thrown himself into with such dedication now appeared like pesky nuisances he wished he could escape.

Tom gave a sigh when he saw that some of the ranch staff were gathered over by the remnants of the refreshments, dividing up cleaning duties. None of them were looking in his direction.

Tom clutched Bill's elbow and quickly led them out of the nearest door. His heart was suddenly hammering his chest, though it was only partly due to his desire to have Bill.

For six years, he had been the picture perfect leader, the kind, responsible, trustworthy, strong vice president of the Miranda. He had followed the rules, and lived quietly, without bothering anyone. He had done as he was told when he was only a ranch hand, and had worked his way to the top because he colored inside the lines.

But Bill had changed all of that. Tom didn't want to be good anymore, and he definitely didn't want to follow the rules. He just wanted Bill; to be honest, he didn't care about anything else.

 

~

 

Peter Hoffman closed his eyes and pursed his lips, doing his best not to scream into his cellphone. Gordon was having a fit, and to be honest, Peter wasn't in the mood to hear it.

“I want that man away from my son.” Gordon finished his rant with that rather laughable statement.

“I understand.” Peter soothed in the tone he knew would best pacify Gordon, “I'm working on it, sir . . . But may I point out, that in another week and a half, Bill will never see Mr. Kaulitz again.”

“That isn't the point.” Gordon snapped, “I don't like him, and I know I'm right about him.”

Peter suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Gordon wanted to be right – of course. Gordon always had to win.

“I agree.” He replied, instead, “But, please, let me do my job.”

Gordon drew in a deep breath then let it out, rattling static through Peter's ear, “I trust you, Peter. But I'm getting fed up with Bill's antics.”

“May I simply point out that I have no basis for these accusations yet.” Peter said, broaching the subject carefully, “Mr. Kaulitz is some sort of super hero around this ranch. He's the vice president, for God's sakes. Having Bill, a delinquent, rebellious kid accuse him of rape, will only turn him into a victim. I can do my job, but I can't work magic. I need time.”

Peter thought he heard Gordon hit something. There was a rustling on the other end and various curse words strung together. Peter cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he nonchalantly lit a cigarette. He let the nicotine hit him with one deep drag, and relaxed in the recliner, waiting for Gordon to stop pitching a fit and talk business.

“Okay, okay.” Gordon came back with a barely controlled tone, “So, what are you doing about this 'hero' situation.”

“Well, I got back with some of my people from the department.” Peter said with a smug smile, “This is very interesting . . . Tom Kaulitz didn't exist before six years ago.”

Dead silence fell across the line – perhaps a first with a telephone conversation with Gordon. Peter smirked in quiet glee at having laid that golden piece of information before his boss so smoothly.

“What?” Gordon said, at last.

“He must have changed his name.” Peter explained with a wave of his hand, “For some reason, this guy didn't want to be who he was anymore. He became Tom Kaulitz and moved to this ranch, presumably to hide.”

“Holy . . . fucking . . . shit.” Gordon whispered in amazement.

“Now, I can't do much with someone who doesn't exist anywhere but in the middle of fucking nowhere . . . But I have people on it.” Peter added.

“Peter, thank you.” Gordon said, and for once he sounded sincere.

Peter rose from the chair when he heard a distant voice out in the yard. It sounded like Bill. He walked to the window and tugged the curtain back just far enough to catch a glimpse of Bill's fingers slipping from Tom's as they bid each other goodnight. Peter smiled, watching the two of them – so oblivious to the storm they were headed into.

“You're welcome, sir.”

“I'll sleep better tonight, knowing this.” Gordon said with a satisfied sigh.

“I, as well.” Peter agreed, “I have to go now. Bill is about to come in.”

“All right. Well, goodnight. Let me know when your people get back to you.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Mr. Trumper.”

Peter hung up the phone just as Bill entered, looking flushed and fresh from what was likely a romp in the stables. He had a bit of straw in his hair that Peter wouldn't be pointing out.

“Where have you been?” Peter asked, playing the part of a clueless and uptight nanny.

“Out.” Bill replied.

The boy disappeared into his room and slammed the door shut behind him without another word. Peter simply shook his head. He couldn't wait to cart that kid back to his stepfather kicking and screaming, in for the beating of his life.

 


	19. Nothing's Louder Than Love

Day 15

 

Tuesday dawned bright and glorious; the world couldn't have looked better.

Bill rose earlier than normal, took his time in the shower, and did his makeup with care and precision. He had his earbuds in, humming to Black Sabbath as he placed the finishing touches on his mascara and lip gloss. Standing back, he eyed his reflection in the mirror and deemed himself fuck-worthy.

He was wearing low-rider skinny jeans that clung to his legs like a second skin, and a sleeve-less, camouflage shirt cut just high enough to reveal a eye-catching portion of his tummy. His make-up was light silver and just enough liner to make his eyes pop. Dark, glimmering gloss made his lips look fuller and beckoning. Damn, he looked fine. Hopefully Tom would think so too.

He wanted to look his best for Tom. If he couldn't give his virginity to the only person he had ever truly loved, he wanted to give all the rest.

Bill sighed as he dropped the mascara tube into his make up bag. Glancing up at the mirror, he suppressed a wave of self-doubt. Yes, he looked fabulous, but maybe he was just a soiled dove dressing up in white – denying the fact that he was no better than dirty whore who spread his legs for anyone.

“Shit.” Bill murmured, turning his face away from the accusing reflection in the mirror.

Tom didn't know everything about him, and that was to Tom's benefit. It was what Bill wanted. He'd rather wallow in quiet self-hatred than let Tom know exactly what Bill thought of himself. Knowing Tom, he would go off, all half-cocked and angry, trying to make it right, when in reality, no one could ever go back and change what happened.

“Come on.” Bill whispered himself a choked encouragement.

He pulled his shoulders back and glared into the mirror. Shimmering, brown eyes met him – half tormented and sorrowful, half angry and disappointed.

“Come on.” He said louder, leaning closer to the mirror, “You can do this.”

He'd been here so many times, knowing these stupid little pep talks didn't work, but still trying. Shaking his head in disgust, Bill snagged his phone and iPod from the counter and stormed out of the bathroom. He shoved his feet into his boots and left the cabin, banging the door shut behind him.

He reached the mess hall early. Walking into the room to find it clustered with groups of conversing guests and staff, Bill searched anxiously for Tom. He began to shoulder his way through the crowd when he located Tom, having a conversation with Natalie. He kept quiet so as not to interrupt, but placed himself next to Tom with his head down, examining his boots.

“I had Randy oversee it.” Tom was saying, “But I can go take inventory myself, if you'd like.”

“I thought you usually did take inventory.” Natalie replied with an arched brow.

“I was busier than normal.” Tom replied, casually.

If Bill hadn't known the truth, he would have thought Tom was being completely honest.

“Next week let's not schedule the supply run on Monday when new guests are coming in.” Tom added with a brief smile.

Natalie's expression relaxed and she began to chuckle, “Yes, of course. I'll make sure next month is different.”

They traded only a few more remarks before Natalie glanced over at Bill. Her expression was guarded, but Bill could see that she didn't trust him. He didn't blame her.

“Well, it looks like someone wants your attention.” Natalie smiled, warmly, “I'll go make sure everything is ready for lunch.”

She disappeared into the crowd, allowing Bill to breath. He respected Natalie since she had done the right thing with the Dirk situation, but her stern gaze gave him the jitters. She was a morally correct type of person; what would happen if she found out about he and Tom?

“Hi.” Tom said, brightly, “You're up early.”

“Yeah, I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep . . .Thinking about stuff . . .” Bill smiled and batted his lashes gently, “Today . . .”

“Yes.” Tom smiled broadly, “Today.”

Bill nodded his head in the direction that Natalie had walked in, “You in trouble?”

“No.” Tom shook his head, “Just sorting things out. This ranch takes a lot of work.”

Bill shrugged, “She made it sound like you weren't doing your part.”

“I do plenty.” Tom replied, sounding almost angry, “In fact, I probably do more than I need to.”

Bill pursed his lips as he examined Tom's strained expression. He wondered if there was something Tom wasn't telling him. Yesterday, things had been dandy between them.

“Is everything okay?” Bill asked, keeping his voice low.

Tom shook his head and blew out a slow breath. With a warm, familiar smile, he patted Bill's shoulder and replied, “As okay as things will ever get.”

Over lunch, Bill was quiet, tuning out the adult conversation and dwelling on his inward concerns. He picked at his food, not having much appetite.

He didn't know why, but he had the distinct feeling that everything which scared him most was about to come crashing down on top of him.

 

~

 

Bill watched quietly as Tom darted around the barn like a whirlwind, doing his chores with a vigor that Bill had never witnessed before. Neither of them were talking much, and Bill was antsy. He wanted to get out of here, get to Tom's cabin, lose himself and all his fears in that familiar and gentle touch . . .

He sat down on a bail of straw and chewed his fingernails anxiously. Tom paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and caught sight of Bill staring at him. His gaze flickered what anxiety, barely concealed by the smile he displayed.

“So.” Bill's voice was quiet in the vastness of the barn.

Tom halted with the shovel poised to scoop the manure out of the next stall.

“What the hell is wrong?” Bill asked, quietly.

Tom drove the shovel into a mound of manure and deposited it forcefully into the wheelbarrow.

“Nothing.” He replied.

Bill gave a low snort, “You're acting weird, Tom.”

“Weird?” Tom turned around and set the shovel down, “You didn't say a word at breakfast. I don't even know what you're acting like.”

Bill let out a low sigh and glanced away, “Shit, Tom. ”

“What?” Tom asked, this time more gently.

“It's just . . .” Bill shrugged and focused on his lap, “I've never . . .”

Tom took his work gloves off and crossed the aisle to where Bill sat. Kneeling down in front of Bill, he took Bill's hands in his own. His eyes locked onto Bill's, holding tight and secure, not letting go.

“You can talk to me.” Tom said, softly, “Please.”

Bill pursed his lips and blinked back tears, “I'm not good.”

Tom frowned and squeezed Bill's hands tighter, “Who says?”

“No one . . . I just know . . .” Bill whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, “I'm a horrible person, Tom. Do you know how many times I've gotten involved with someone, only to cut them off because I get fucking scared? I feel safe for awhile, thinking everything will be okay, and then . . . I realize, I can't trust anyone but myself. I mean, what if that person betrayed me someday? What if they don't really love me?”

“Whoa, slow down.” Tom soothed, reaching up to cradle Bill's cheek, “You are safe with me. You can believe that, darling.”

Bill sniffed back tears and reached up to wipe his eyes, “I know, I just . . .”

“Then what?”

“I don't want to hurt you.” Bill replied, refusing to meet Tom's eyes, “I've been with a lot of people, Tom. Girls and guys. I'm not a good person.”

“How will that hurt me? I don't care where you've been, Bill. You can't change the past; the future is what's important.” Tom replied, rubbing Bill's tears away with his thumb, “Our future.”

Tom's gentle words only made the emotion rise up stronger. Bill threw himself into Tom's arms, sobbing, “I'm a whore, Tom. How can you love me? I'm just a dirty, used up, unlovable-”

“Stop, stop.” Tom cut in, “That's not true.”

He cradled Bill closer, holding him so tight Bill felt like he was suffocating – but breathless in the best way. He clung to Tom with all his might, wondered if he drowned himself in Tom's love long enough if he could someday be cleansed of his sins.

“We've all done bad things.” Tom whispered, rubbing his hand in soothing circle over Bill's back, “And we have all felt unworthy. But everyone is worthy of love, especially you, Bill.”

Bill pressed his face into Tom's shirt, thinking his mascara was all ruined by now. This day was not going as he had hoped. In fact, it was very nearly ruined.

“Look,” Tom said, drawing back to gaze into Bill's tear-filled eyes, “Let me just finish up the last of these chores and we'll go to my cabin.”

Bill blinked rapidly, dispelling the last of the moisture in his eyes, “Are you sure?”

“I'm more sure than ever.” Tom replied, stroking his fingers through Bill's hair, “I know I can show you how much I love you – that it's true and deserving. Maybe I wasn't your first, but maybe I can be your last.”

Bill threw himself back into Tom's arms. The words spilled from his lips before he even had a chance to reconsider.

“I love you, Tom.”

 

~

 

Tom's cabin smelled like the outdoors, a mixture of cologne and the distant scent of wildflowers. Bill knew he would remember that smell for the rest of his life.

It was dim since the curtains were pulled; just enough daylight to see by, but not enough to remind them where they were. The cabin was their sanctuary and somehow it transported them beyond the bounds of reality.

Tom's hands were always warm, and despite the rough callouses from six years of hard, physical labor, they were more gentle than any other hands that had touched Bill's body.

He basked in their embrace, moaning out his pleasure just as Tom's mouth slipped away from his own to blaze a hot trail down Bill's neck. Shivers ensued down his spine as Tom's stubble scraped against his skin, followed by the hot press of his mouth.

Tom backed Bill into his bedroom and shut the door behind them with a kick of his foot. They were both already breathing hard and growing aroused. Bill undulated his hips against Tom's, whimpering when he felt his own erection grind against Tom's.

Tom sucked on the flesh of Bill's neck while his fingers lifted Bill's shirt. His fingertips skimmed along the baby soft skin, tracing the defined line of Bill's spine until he was tugging the material over Bill's head. He tossed the shirt aside and cupped Bill's slender chest, squeezing the slight rise of his pecks and gently pinching the already rosy nipples.

“Oh, Tom.” Bill gasped lightly and clutched onto Tom's shirt.

Tom's gaze burned in his pleasured visage, feeding on the look of utter satisfaction on Bill's face. He rubbed his thumbs across the small, tight nipples, urging them to stand completely erect and aching. Ducking his head, he flicked his tongue across one, and paused to sense Bill's reaction completely. Bill gasped and clutched Tom's head closer to his chest.

“Oh, yes . . .” He whispered.

Tom flicked his tongue back and forth harder, then drew the little nub of flesh into his mouth. Sucking in and out, he drew Bill's arousal to the peak, causing Bill to writhe against him.

“Tom, please.” Bill panted, feeling the his crotch straining with need.

Smiling, Tom grabbed onto Bill's belt buckle and tugged it open. With a tug on the zipper, he yanked the pants down, forcing the taut jean to Bill's knees. Bill's mouth popped open as the tight material released his cock, allowing it to tent his boxers outward. Tom grabbed onto Bill's cock, causing Bill to rise on his toes in pleasure.

“Tom . . .” Bill whined, clutching one arm around Tom's neck to keep himself steady.

Tom rubbed his hand over Bill's throbbing erection, letting the material of his boxers chafe the tender flesh. Moist gathered at the tip, leaving a small wet patch on the cloth, and a smile on Tom's lips.

“Tom, I want it.” Bill gasped.

Tom gave Bill's cock one last squeeze before turning Bill about and nudging him toward the bed. Bill moved as quickly as he could with his pants still around his knees and the pleasure turning his whole body weak.

Tom guided Bill to the bed and urged him face down on the bed. Bill strained to look over his shoulder as Tom yanked the jeans and his boxers the rest of the way off. His whole body clenched with desire feeling the cool rush of air over his naked skin. Tom had seen him naked countless times, but the familiar scorch of his gaze over Bill's exposed skin never ceased to make him needier than before.

Tom discarded his only clothing in rapid motions, eager to get into bed with Bill. Bill watched as he went to the dresser, where he pulled a brown paper sack out of the top drawer. As he walked back to the bed, Tom withdrew two items – a bottle of lube and a large box of condoms.

Bill licked his lips, finding his mouth dry just seeing the lube in Tom's hands. He shifted anxiously on the bed and spread his legs wider. He wanted Tom to know just how much he needed this, how much he wanted Tom's big cock inside him.

Tom set the condoms on the bedside table and sauntered over to the bed with the lube in his hand. Situating himself between Bill's spread legs, Tom leaned over him and began to place hot, wet kisses against Bill's shoulder and the back of his neck. Each touch sent a shaft of desire down through core. Bill moaned and lifted his hips, searching for Tom's caress.

Tom reached down to cradle one ass cheek, stroking the smooth, round flesh and squeezing gently. Bill breathed his pleasure in small, whimpering sounds, letting Tom hear his desire. Undulating his hips, he thrust his flesh into Tom's hands, begging to be had.

Tom grunted against Bill's shoulder and used both hands to fondle Bill's ass, kneading and spreading the two small, taut globes in his big, rough palms. Bill moaned and looked over his shoulder with a pleasured and seductive gleam in his eyes. He let out mouth hang open in a groan as Tom squeezed his ass cheeks.

Tom bent over to kiss Bill's spine, following the curve up to Bill's raised ass, where he paused to kiss the tailbone. Bill wiggled in Tom's grasp as his mouth lingered there, letting hot breath pour down the crevice and caress his needy hole.

“Tom, yes . . .” Bill panted.

Tom's hands slid down Bill's thighs, massaging the smooth, tender flesh while working his legs open wider. Bill moaned and grasped at the bedsheets as his legs slid open to the maximum, making his balls ache. Tom's hand slid underneath him, to direct his hips upward while keeping his face and chest pressed to the bedsheets. Bill bit back another louder cry as Tom placed his fingers directly between his spread ass cheeks and began to rub up and down the cleft.

“Shit.” Bill whispered, his voice choked with need.

Tom's fingers rubbed a little harder, igniting just enough friction to make Bill's skin burn with need. He moaned, struggling to hold the position Tom had placed him in with the pleasure now bearing down on him. If he looked down, he could see his cock throbbing between his legs, dripping with desire, so on the verge of coming already.

Bill gasped, his whole body clenching up when he felt two of Tom's fingers slap lightly against his entrance. Bill threw a wild look over his shoulder to see Tom's face. He was greeted by dark, wanting eyes and lips curled into a pleased smile.

Tom grasped one of Bill's ass cheeks and spread him open wider to deliver another gentle, but firm smack with his first two fingers. It barely stung, but Bill could feel the impact down to his very core. His cock twitched anxiously, wanting and aching for Tom to touch him and make him come.

Bending his head down, Tom pressed his mouth lightly against Bill's aching hole. His tongue flicked out to rim the tight ring of flesh, causing Bill's insides to collapse into utterly satisfied jelly.

“Oh, Tom . . .” He moaned, he eyes rolling back in his head, “Yeeees . . .”

Tom licked him again, slowly and thoroughly, laving saliva over the taut flesh. He grasped Bill's thigh harder and pulled Bill closer. With his mouth buried in Bill's sweet ass, his groan of pleasure was muffled into a vibration against Bill's trembling skin.

“Tom, please. . .” Bill moaned, clawing at the sheets.

The pleasure was too good, and too much all at once. He wanted to tear himself away screaming, and yet, he wanted to remain in this perfect second, with Tom licking him so good.

Tom lifted his head and replaced this mouth with his thumb, rubbing at the tender hole until it opened to his touch. Bill could hear Tom breathing heavily in exhilaration; only a small part of him could wonder how nervous Tom was because Tom was already doing him better than anyone else in the past.

Bill's eyes slammed shut and a groan burst from his lips as Tom's thumb slid all the way into him, pressing to the depth.

“Oh God . . .” Bill gasped, “That's good.”

Tom pumped his thumb in and out of a few times before withdrawing it in favor of the lube. The cap clicked open, and Bill held his breath. A few moments later, he felt Tom's fingers touch him again, this time wet with lube. He released a long moan as Tom's fingers rubbed over his hole, saturating his flesh with lube before slipping one finger inside.

“Ohh . . .” Bill panted, arching his hips back.

Tom pumped his finger in and out of the quickly widening hole, and stroked Bill's flank with the other in a soothing sort of caress. Bill felt his whole body begin to tremble with desire, and his cock go incredibly tight. A pathetic whine broke free of his lips.

“Tom, please. . .”

Tom petted Bill's hip, and placed a kiss on round curve of his buttock.

“That's good.”

Bill groaned at that simple praise. His hips automatically thrust back against Tom's hand, begging for more. Inside his head, he was chanting that one word – more, more, more – but all his lips could form were unintelligible moans.

Tom paired a second finger with the first and began to pump them in and out. The pace was quick and steady, but Bill was impatient for Tom's cock. He had Tom's fingers inside him plenty of times in the past several days, and he knew he was ready for the real thing. It was all he could think about, even when they weren't together.

Tom scissored his fingers inside of Bill, working the tight muscles open. Bill tried to relax himself, though it was hard with the desire running rampant though his body. He was eager to have more, as much as Tom could give him.

Bill groaned as Tom's fingers slid out of him. He glanced over his shoulder, breathing hard and sweating already. Tom added more lube to this fingers and pressed the tips against Bill's hole. Bill's eyes widened and a cry rose from his lips as Tom thrust three fingers inside him. They went deep, as deep as they could go, and this time, Bill couldn't so much as utter a peep. His throat was frozen as Tom pumped his three fingers into Bill's little ass, hard and fast.

Bill's lips stretched open in a silent cry, and he writhed helplessly against the sheets. His body felt like it was one exposed nerve of pleasure, alive and throbbing with unreleased energy. He grasped at the sheets and drew them to his salivating mouth, muffling the guttural moan when he finally managed to breathe. He dragged himself up against the sheets, sliding his legs shut in an instinctive move to escape the blinding sensations.

Keeping his fingers lodged inside of Bill, Tom pulled Bill back against him. His hand wrapped around the front of Bill's thigh and hooked on the inside of his leg, forcing his thighs back apart. He pushed his knee in between Bill's before they could close again, and used his free hand to pin Bill to the bed. Bill gasped, his hands batting at the sheets as Tom's fingers thrust into him once more, forcing him open like a battering ram.

“Oh my god . . .” Bill cried into the sheets as he writhed helplessly.

Tom's hand eased off of Bill's back and reached up to stroke his hair. His mouth placed a hot, wet kiss against Bill's earlobe, “You like that?”

Bill nodded, but his reply was choked by pleasure.

“You like it hard, don't you?”

Bill licked his lips convulsively, and began to nod eagerly. After thinking about getting fucked hard by Tom for two weeks now, Tom's questions nearly pushed him over the edge of sanity.

Tom's fingers slid out of him and Bill groaned in displeasure.

“We'll see about getting it hard . . .” Tom continued, plucking the bottle of lube from the sheets, “Right now, I'm going to take my time with this sweet ass.”

Bill gave sigh. He couldn't say he was disappointed, because he knew he was really going to enjoy taking Tom's cock, but he had also been waiting far longer than he liked. He wanted the pleasure fast and hard, just like he had fantasized about.

Tom took one of the condoms from the box and ripped it open with his teeth. Bill watched as Tom's fingers handled his cock, rolling the condom smoothly over his straining flesh. The pleasure swelled inside him like a balloon; he wanted to burst with the desire to have that cock inside him.

Tom poured out a generous amount of lube and rubbed it over his cock with one fist. Bill shuddered deep down, catching that momentary glimpse of Tom touching himself. Thinking about his own experiences his first week here, he wondered if Tom had done the same thing, masturbating to thoughts of lust for Bill.

Tom bent over Bill and grasped his hip to draw their bodies together. His breathing was heavy and uneven in Bill's ear, and his body was shaking ever so slightly.

“Are you ready for this?” Tom whispered.

Bill nodded. Yes, he was ready. Despite the flurry of butterflies in his stomach, and the distinct moment of doubt he always experienced right before having sex with someone, he knew he couldn't turn back now. He had wanted this from the beginning, now he had it, and he wasn't letting it go.

“Yes.” He whispered, urging his hips back toward Tom's cock, “I want you inside me.”

Tom grabbed his cock and directed it to Bill's thoroughly prepped entrance. The tip nudged against Bill's hole, and pressed past the ring of muscle when Tom jutted his hips forward.

“Oh God!” Bill gasped out.

Tom's cock sank in slowly, forcing back the last of Bill's resistance. His lungs ached from not breathing as he felt himself being stretched wide up, and filled to the brim with Tom's long, thick cock.

“Oh Jesus. . .” Tom rasped next to Bill's ear, “Oh, Bill . . .”

They breathed together in a distorted melody of gasps and moans as their bodies at last became fused together. Tom's cock slid in to the hilt, and rested there, filling Bill almost more than he could handle.

“Tom . . .” Bill groaned, curling his fists around the sheets.

Tom drew back to the tip, and performed a second, unsteady thrust. His hands hovered over Bill's hips, quivering in pleasure, as if he was afraid Bill would break under the pressure.

“Oh my god . . .” He whispered, “Bill . . .”

“Yes, Tom.” Bill moaned, undulating his hips back against Tom to accept his cock fully once more.

Tom's fingers touched down on Bill's hips, barely grasping onto Bill, as he began to rock gently against his ass. Bill moaned louder at the sensation of Tom's cock sliding in and out of him. His ass throbbed gently with pleasure and need, aching for so much more.

Tom bent over Bill, covering Bill's body with his own, and bracing his hands on either side of Bill's head. His hips rolled in slow, tight circles against Bill's upraised ass, causing his cock to glide over every inch of Bill's inner walls. Bill moaned and pressed his face to the sheets, consumed by the sensations. Tom's cock was thick and long inside him, igniting friction any way he angled into Bill. Despite the thorough prep, Bill could feel himself being stretched – perfectly, with aching sweetness, stretched open to the maximum.

“Tom . . .” Bill groaned, reaching up to grasp one of Tom's hands.

Tom's hand latched onto his his, fingers lacing through Bill's. His breath was hot and heavy on the back of Bill's neck, inciting a fresh wave of shudders down Bill's spine. He arched up against Tom's body and felt the solid, sweat lined expanse of his chest and stomach meet Bill's back. Twisting his neck, Bill mashed his mouth against Tom's, moaning in abandon.

Tom's mouth returned the kiss sloppily, in between breathless pants. His whole body was shivering against Bill's; the pleasure grew more and more intense with each thrust. He moaned against Bill's lips, like a man stripped of all control and inhibition.

“Bill.” Tom ground out just as lips broke apart, “Oh, I love you.”

Bill felt a smile form on his lips, only to be twisted into into an expression of shocked pleasure when Tom began to thrust a bit harder against him.

“Oh God.” Bill whispered, drawing in a sharp breath.

Tom grasped Bill's hip with one hand and pulled their bodies together, causing the sweaty flesh to smack loudly. His rhythm slowly built until he was rocking in and out of Bill's ass at a steady, but controlled pace. He held Bill against him with tender care and lavished rows of kisses along Bill's neck and shoulder, moaning fragmented, but earnest praises into the smooth flesh.

Bill cried out in low, short moans, throwing his head back against Tom's attentive mouth. The

pleasure formed like a tight ball of pleasure, sinking lower and lower in his stomach every time Tom's cock touched his prostate. Everything in him was tight and trembling, hanging on the balance between pleasure and frenzied need. He groaned and clawed at the sheets impatiently, wanting the pleasure, but wishing this moment to last forever.

“Tom, Tom . . .” He was moaning in desperation just as Tom's cock eased up on his tender, aching prostate.

Bill gasped in a lungful of air when Tom slid out of him, leaving his body feeling empty. He glanced over his shoulder in confusion, only to find himself being turned onto his back the next second. Tom grasped Bill's ankles and lifted them over his shoulders, gazing down at Bill with a look of pleasure and adoration.

Bill returned the gaze with a languid smile. His body was humming with pleasure, and though every sense was now heightened, his limbs felt weak and useless.

Tom situated himself against Bill's thighs and guided his cock back to the entrance. His cock slid in easily, taking up the space that warmly welcomed him back.

Tom grunted and closed his eyes as his cock filled Bill's ass, “It's so tight . . .” he mumbled, dazed with pleasure.

Bill squirmed against Tom, trying to drag himself farther onto Tom's cock with his legs up in the air. Tom squeezed Bill's thighs, dragging him close.

“Wanna see you come.” He whispered, raggedly.

“Oohh...” Bill sighed in pleasure and let his eyes drift shut.

He focused on the feeling of Tom's cock riding in and out of him, inching closer and closer to his prostate, until they were back to full speed, flesh slapping against flesh. Bill cried out, fingers snaring in the bed sheets as Tom pushed him closer and closer to orgasm. Arching up from the mattress, Bill let his mouth fall open in a series of high-pitched breathy moans that told Tom just how close he was.

“Yes, Tom . .. Yes . . .”

And Tom responded in a low, strained groan from between gritted teeth. His gazed down at Bill's pale, writhing body, and the red slash of his cock against his white tummy, thirsting for the image of his thick, milky juice spilling across the perfect, alabaster canvas. Grasping Bill's thighs tighter, he pushed himself harder, diving into fast, hard rhythm, searching for the trigger inside them both.

“Oh God!” Bill wailed, head thrown back against the sheets, pale and straining neck exposed with all its bursting tendons.

His body drew tight around Tom's cock, squeezing Tom like a lovely, velvet vice. Eyes blinking rapidly and lips moving wordlessly, he rose, muscles locked with pleasure, suspending him for seemingly endless moments. The pleasure built like a quiet, rushing storm inside him, rolling like hot, lashing fire through his loins. It glazed over his dick repeatedly, like a ghost, barely there, teasing him relentlessly.

“Please . . .” The whine rose off his lips.

He bit down harshly on his lower lip, trapping the last, pathetic pleas for merciful pleasure before it all broke loose inside him.

It snapped suddenly, like a rubber band stretched too far. His body exploded into a million fragments of rapid, fiery, uncontrollable pleasure, forcing a high-pitched cry off of Bill's lips. He bucked on Tom's cock, riding out the pleasure, with his sanity barely intact. It touched every nerve-ending, every muscle, every fiber of his being – it touched him like nothing or no one had ever touched him before.

He was so lost in pleasure that he barely realized Tom had also surrendered to his own storm of pleasure. He could feel Tom's hips jerking against him, but he could hardly open his eyes to witness the intense pleasure written across Tom's face.

Bill felt his body slip back down against the sheets, humming and weightless with pleasure. He cracked his eyes open to see Tom removing the condom and discarding it in the trash can. Bill wordlessly held out his arms and waited until Tom came back to the bed. Smiling lovingly, Tom sank to the sheets next to Bill and pulled the boy into his arms.

“Mmm.” Bill murmured, resting his cheek against Tom's chest, “Wow.”

Tom let out an exhausted, but pleased sigh. Petting his fingers through Bill's hair, he whispered, “You're amazing.”

Bill flushed and ducked his head against Tom's side, “No, you are.”

Tom tucked his fingers under Bill's chin, and lifted his face so that they could share a slow, deep kiss. Bill moaned into Tom's mouth and pushed his body tight against Tom's, overtaken by a wave of love.

“You're my last.” Bill whispered, letting his lips hover just an inch from Tom's, “I know it.”

Tom caressed Bill's cheek, “God, I love you.”

Bill swallowed hard, and tried not to think to hard about the words as they passed from his lips. It scared him too much when he actually thought about what he was going to say and all the ramifications.

“I love you, too.”

Tom smiled in a way that made Bill feel safe and relaxed. He rest snuggled cheek against Tom's shoulder and closed his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, he felt content. He was willing to fight for this more than ever; his parents and Peter couldn't take Tom away from him. What they had didn't reside in a material body they could take away from him; it didn't even reside in his own happiness. It was somewhere between them, a half of each of their hearts beating as one, a feeling that Bill wished he could hold onto forever. Their love was so fragile and fledgling that it could be smashed in a moment; and yet, it was already so strong, Bill knew that if they fought hard enough and believed with as much passion with which they made love, it could become unbreakable.

 


	20. No Going Back Now

Day 16

 

“You're in a good mood today.” Natalie observed, as she glanced at Tom over the top of her reading glasses.

Tom smiled charmingly at his boss and shrugged, “What's not to be happy about?”

Natalie arched an eyebrow, “Well, we are going over the ranch's financial report as we speak, and a good portion of our money just went to repairing the central generator so . . .”

Tom bit back his smile, “Right . . . Well, one can never be too hopeful.”

Natalie leaned back in her chair and eyed him from across her desk. Absently twirling a pen through her fingers, she replied, “Yes, well, if only hope could make more money appear in the bank account.”

“Don't worry, Nati.” Tom said, seriously this time, “We'll make it. We always do.”

She smiled, softly, “And this is why you're my second.”

Tom gave her an affectionate wink, and they went back to discussing the finances of the ranch. Natalie was right when she said things were looking bleak for the Miranda, but Tom couldn't be brought down by money problems. His head was still spinning, thinking about making love to Bill yesterday afternoon. Whenever he began to reminisce in detail, he felt a tingle and tightening in his crotch and a desire to find Bill immediately and do it all over again.

They had spent as much time in the Tom's cabin as they could before Tom had to leave to take care of his duties on the ranch. Neither of them had wanted to leave, but Tom promised they would spend time together again tomorrow.

The financial meeting was being held right after lunch. Bill had promised to wait for Tom in the lobby so that they could escape back to the cabin once Tom had finished his chores for the day.

Tom tried to focus and do his best on the reports he and Natalie were looking over, but his mind was constantly distracted by thoughts of Bill. He handed the signed reports back to Natalie with hesitance, hoping he hadn't missed anything. He was out of the door of the office with barely a “goodbye.”

Natalie had to be wondering what had gotten into him lately, but Tom didn't care. His melancholy was all but gone, replaced by a glorious, divine light. Perhaps Fate, or God, or some other force had brought Bill into his life to save him; whichever it was, Tom could only ever be eternally grateful.

Tom jogged down the steps that led down to the dining area and out to the lobby. The mess hall was deserted, with only a few cleaning staff left over to pick up the trash from lunch. He whistled a random tune as he swaggered across the hall to the double doors leading out to the lobby. The cleaning staff smiled at him and he smiled back.

Tom was starting to believe that the day couldn't get any better, when he opened the lobby doors and ran directly into a certain blond haired girl.

“Oh, Mr. Kaulitz! I was just looking for you!” Tiffany exclaimed in a high-pitched squeal.

“Oh, um . . .” Tom stammered, taking a step back so that he wasn't crammed up against the girl's chest.

“I know we didn't get to talk much the other day because of the dance and everything. . . .” Tiffany continued, waving a hand, “But, oh my God! I want to learn to ride so bad! I was told you give the best lessons. Please?”

“Tiffany, I um, really . . .” Tom began, shaking his head.

The lobby door swung shut behind him, trapping him in between the door and the very persistent young lady. He gave an inward groan.

“I am on a horse ranch, and I don't know how to ride!” Tiffany exclaimed, laughing stupidly, “Like, oh my god, how silly, right? I have to learn before I leave!”

“I apologize, miss.” Tom said, holding up a hand, “But my schedule is already full. You will have to sign up for the group lessons, or see if one of the other hands can fit in private lessons.”

Tiffany made a pouty face, then blinked her large blue eyes, “Please? I think we would get along really well, Tom.”

“Mr. Kaulitz.” Tom said, pointing a finger at her pleading expression, “It's Mr. Kaulitz, to you.”

She stuck her lower lip out, but whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“Look, don't try to play me.” Tom said, lowering his voice, “I've been on this ranch for six years, and I know what you want.”

Tiffany smiled, sweetly bit her lower lip, “Well, don't you? . . . Want it?”

“No.” Tom said firmly, “I am not interested. Now go on.”

Tiffany gave a sigh and back away, “I'll see you later, Mr. Kaulitz.”

Turning on her heel, she skipped away, as if his rejection hadn't bothered her one bit.

Tom growled under his breath and lifted a hand to rub his eyes. He had to remind himself that it was one incident out of the whole day, and he had Bill to look forward to. That little slut couldn't bring down his mood when the day had barely started . . .

“So, what was that?”

Tom's head snapped up to see Bill striding across to lobby towards him, looking none too happy. His eyes were dark like stormclouds, and his hands were curled into fists at his sides.

“Nothing.” Tom replied, “I told you before-”

“It didn't look like you were pushing her away too fast.” Bill replied as he came to a halt just a few feet away from Tom.

“Are you accusing me of something?” Tom demanded, “Because I can tell you right now, you would be way over the line to do so.”

Bill chewed on his lower lip and crossed his arms, “Sorry.”

“I don't want her.” Tom snapped, then glanced around the lobby to see if anyone was watching, “I don't need her.” He added more quietly, “I have you.”

Bill made a face and glanced over his shoulder at the doors where Tiffany had just exited, “I want to grab her by the hair and beat her face in-”

“There's no need to do that.” Tom insisted, “I told her straight-forward that I'm not interested.”

“Good.” Bill replied, sharply.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Tom asked, frustrated.

Bill sighed and looked at his boots, “No, sorry. I just . . . I've had someone tell me that I can could trust them, and then . . .”

“That's not me.” Tom whispered, putting his hands on Bill's shoulders, “I wouldn't ever do that.”

“I know.” Bill replied, with a heavy sigh, “It's just me . . . being stupid.”

“No, it's not.” Tom said, dipping his fingers under Bill's chin to make the boy look at him, “That's your feelings and fears, and they're real. You can't change them; we just have to work on it together.”

“Okay.” Bill replied, quietly.

“Come on.” Tom said, putting his arm over Bill's shoulder, “Let's get out of here.”

 

~

 

Bill awoke to a wonderful tingling sensation in his nether regions – a sensation he quickly associated with pleasure and the warm, wet suction around his dick.

“Oohh . . .” He mumbled, cracking his sleep-laden eyelids open.

His bleary gaze took in the familiar scene of Tom's cabin, then darted down his naked body to see Tom's head ducked between his legs.

Bill was fully awake in moments, and moaning in encouragement to Tom.

He barely remembered falling asleep after having sex with Tom, but now he was pleased to be woken up this way. The memory of the incident with Tiffany couldn't even penetrate the barrier of pleasure that now enveloped his body. He gladly thrust himself against Tom's sucking mouth and twisted his fingers into Tom's long hair to drag his lover closer.

Tom had already made him come twice that afternoon, but the pleasure quickly built inside his body. His blood pounded heavily through his ears and his muscles went taut as the orgasm quickly approached.

Tom reached between Bill's eagerly spread thighs and began to stroke his balls as well, coaxing the pleasure to bear down on Bill even hotter.

“Oh my god . . .” Bill moaned, pumping his hips against Tom's face, “Yes . . .”

Tom took Bill's excitedly thrusting cock with eager swallows, until saliva was streaming down Bill's shaft, and Tom's lips were swollen with the friction. He gazed up at Bill past thick, dark lashes, and petted Bill's inner thigh, apparently happy to accept Bill's cock shoving it's way down his throat.

Bill gasped and tugged at the sheets until his knuckles were white. He strained, sweated, and worked for the pleasure until it came crashing down on top him, crushing him in it's consuming grasp. Tom drew back and squeezed Bill's cock in his strong, warm grip to milk the thick, jets of cum from the swollen tip. Bill gasped and spasmed jaggedly against Tom's grip, whimpering pathetically as the pleasure had its way with him.

He sank to the bedsheets, exhausted and milked dry for the third time that day.

“Oh . . .” He moaned, reaching down to touch his sensitive cock.

Tom smiled and kissed Bill's thigh, “You look beautiful, coming like that.”

Bill felt familiar warmth on his cheeks and lifted his hands to cover the rosy blush.

Tom chuckled and patted Bill's leg.

“I'll get a washcloth.”

Tom rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. While Bill listened to Tom move around the bathroom, opening and closing cabinets and running the faucet, he slowly remembered their conversation earlier that day about trust.

Bill knew he was a rather broken and tainted individual. For his young age, he had endured many things – the loss of his father, bullying, abuse, empty and meaningless sex. He hated how used and dirty he felt on a day-to-day basis, remembering all the things he had done and all the things that had been done to him. But, deep down in broken, cold, dark heart, he wanted to believe that he could still trust – and that Tom was the one he could trust.

It made him really scared, but also slightly exhilarated to think about telling Tom the whole truth, beyond Gordon's abuse. In all honesty, Gordon was just the tip of the iceburg, and Bill knew that if he wanted to have a true, long-lasting relationship with Tom, he had to tell the truth. He had to let go of his last secret – his darkest, oldest secret.

Bill swallowed back a wave of emotion and stared hard at the ceiling. Was he really ready to do it? He hadn't told anyone – not even his mom . . . But Tom was the one – the love of his life. He was sure of it.

Tom walked back into the room, carrying a wet washcloth. He sat down on the edge of the bed and began to wipe the drying release from Bill's skin.

“You okay?” He murmured, glancing up at Bill's worried expression.

Bill nodded, but sighed heavily a moment later, “I was just thinking . . .”

“What?” Tom asked, pausing with the washcloth against Bill's stomach.

“I know, you told me not to snoop.” Bill whispered, “But . . . I just . . . The picture.”

Bill saw fear and resentment fall across Tom's face like a shadow, but he pushed on.

“I know you were married, but . . . Is the little girl in the picture your daughter?”

Tom drew in a deep breath and looked away. His brow was furrowed deeply and his hand was curled into a fist against his forehead. Bill held his breath, hoping Tom wouldn't get mad and walk away.

“Yes.” Tom whispered, at last.

“She and your wife aren't with you anymore?” Bill asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“No.” Tom replied, darkly.

“I just wondered what was so bad that you can't tell me.” Bill replied in a whisper, searching Tom's face for even a hint of the truth.

“Bill, some things are best left in the past.” Tom replied, firmly.

He rose from the edge of the bed, clutching the washcloth in his fist.

“Have you told anyone?” Bill asked.

“Yes, when I came here, Natalie helped me a lot.” Tom replied, “But I'm past it. It was six years ago. I want to look forward to the future – with you.”

“How can we have a future if we are always second guessing each other?” Bill demanded.

“I haven't second guessed anything.” Tom snapped, “I am fully committed to this relationship, and I know that I love you with all my heart. That's what should count.”

“It does count.” Bill said, crossing his arms, “But don't you want to know everything about your partner, so you can love them the best way possible? I thought a relationship was about complete trust.”

“It is.”

“Then why can't you trust me?” Bill cried, throwing his hands up.

“Bill, I am asking you.” Tom said firmly, leaning down to look Bill in the eyes, “Just forget about it. I can't right now.”

Bill sighed and looked at his lap, “Okay, whatever.”

“Don't 'whatever' me. Please.” Tom said, gently, sitting down next to Bill.

When Bill didn't reply, he took Bill's hand in his and squeezed it warmly.

“I love you, baby.” He whispered, putting an arm around Bill's shoulders and pulling him close.

“I love you too.” Bill mumbled, hiding his face in Tom's chest.

Tom kissed the top of Bill's head and rocked him for several moments. His heart beat slowed down, hoping Bill had chosen to let the topic go.

“I've got a meeting with some of the hands tonight after dinner.” Tom said, quietly, “Maybe you can go find something to do, and we can try to meet back up before light's out.”

“Okay.” Bill whispered, “How long is this meeting?”

“I should be out of it by nine o' clock.”

“Okay.”

Tom drew back to look Bill in the eyes, “Are we okay?”

Bill nodded, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Tom smiled and kissed Bill's forehead, “We should get showers and get ready for dinner.”

Bill nodded, and did his best to smile.

Tom placed one last kiss on Bill's lips before he got up and disappeared into the bathroom. A few moments later, Bill heard the shower running. He gave a sigh and flopped onto his back on the bed, wondering if they really were okay.

 

~

 

The sun was starting to set over the hills, casting bright golden rays over the ranch, as Bill wandered into the rec hall. He dug his hands deep into his pockets and let his feet drag. Checking his watch for the hundredth time that evening, he wondered when Tom's meeting would be over. Tom had said nine, but it was well on it's way to nine-thirty.

Bill grumbled under his breath as he trudged down the hallway. He didn't expect to find entertainment in the rec hall since there wasn't much here besides the pool and foose ball tables and some ancient board games. He supposed he could just explore the ranch to kill time.

Bill slowed to a tip-toe when he heard voices drifting from one of the rooms down the hall. Creeping up to the door way, Bill peered through the crack of the barely open door to see a dozen or so kids seated on folding chairs in a wide circle. Most of the people were teens, sank down low in their seats and not appearing particularly happy. Two adults, a man and a woman, were seated next to each other on the far side of the circle.

“Would anyone else like to share today?” The woman was asking.

With a sickening feeling, Bill realized exactly what this group was.

None of the teenagers raised a hand. The woman glanced around the circle anxiously, before looking up. Bill took a sharp step back, hoping the woman hadn't seen him, but he heard her call out, “You can join in if you want, young man.”

Bill gave an inward groan. Pushing the door open wider, he held up a hand, “Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just looking for someone . . .”

“Don't be shy.” The woman smiled, “You can join us.”

“Um, I just . . .”

“Can I share something?” A young lady suddenly piped up, interrupting Bill and the woman.

“Of course, Ann.”

Bill wanted to flee the room, but his feet were frozen to the floor. He stood, locked in position by the door, as Ann's quiet voice filled the room.

“I was like three when my father left, so I don't really remember him. But I remember all the boyfriends my mom had afterwords.” Ann said, barely looking up from her lap, “Some of them were okay, a couple only lasted for like a month . . . But some of them were really . . . bad.”

Bill felt sick to his stomach, knowing exactly where this story was leading. He bit his lower lip, as Ann continued in a low, almost monotone voice.

“My mom was real hooked on coke. She needed a hit like ten times a day. She'd do anything for a trip.”

The girl seated next to Ann reached over and grabbed the girl's pale hand. Ann barely responded, as she went on with her story.

“She dated some of these guys just because they could give her drugs. But she didn't always have the money for the drugs . . . But she had me.”

Bill closed her his briefly. His stomach churned, and he felt the familiar threat of tears behind his eyelids – the familiar brand of memories scorching across his brain.

“Some of them just wanted pictures.” Ann whispered, “But some of them wanted the real thing.”

“We're all here for you, Annie.” The girl holding Ann's hand said, reaching over to hug the quietly sobbing young lady.

“I just locked everything up inside for so long.” Ann began to cry, her voice growing louder with emotion, “I didn't let anyone in; I didn't know who to trust. But I was so lonely. . . . I thought about killing myself a lot of the time, and I didn't even want to get out of bed. I hated myself so much.”

Bill felt his knees shaking, and his hands begin to quiver with internalized sorrow and anger. His head was swimming, and his chest felt on the verge of imploding. He wanted out of this room so badly, but he couldn't move. Breathing heavily, feeling dizzy and light-headed, he knew he was going into a panic attack. The room felt hot, suffocating. He needed out now.

Ann's voice grew distant as a loud buzzing took over. Bill stumbled out of the room, gasping for air. Tears pushed past his eyelids, tracing hot, wet paths down his cheeks, and blinding him. He staggered into the hallway, and sank to his butt on the linoleum. He ducked his head between his legs. Concentrated on breathing. Counted the seconds. Waited for it to end.

Finally, he felt his throat loosen up and the air begin to flow back into his lungs. With a heavy sigh, Bill lifted his head and leaned back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, fighting against the tears that still oppressed his eyes.

He sat there for a long time, recalling Ann's story, thinking about her words. Then he thought about himself. And he thought about Tom.

Finally, with dead resolution in his eyes, he stood up and left the rec hall. The walk back to his cabin barely felt like a second under his feet. When he arrived, he palmed his journal and barely stopped before headed for Tom's cabin.

 

~

 

Tom paced worriedly about his cabin. After having checked most of the ranch, he was seriously started to wonder where Bill had gone off to. It was now ten o'clock, and he hadn't seen Bill or heard from someone else where the boy could be.

In the empty silence of his cabin, his thoughts took over. Going over their last conversation in his head, Tom nearly began to panic.

He had now denied Bill the knowledge of his tightly held secretly twice. Bill knew there was something awful Tom was keeping from him, but Tom wasn't willing to tell – even after Bill had confessed that Gordon abused him. It really wasn't fair, Tom realized, but as he had stated, he simply couldn't. The very thought of admitting to Bill what had happened – what he had done – made him want to vomit or simply disappear.

What if Bill had finally had enough? He was sick of Tom covering up and lying; the relationship was over. What if Bill felt so unworthy to know Tom's secret that he had simply run away from Tom?

Tom scraped a hand through his hair and considered running out of the cabin to search for Bill once more. He almost shouted in surprise when there came a loud, rapid knocking on his door.

Tom ran to the door without hesitation and flung it open. He let out a massive breath of relief when he saw Bill standing on the doorstep. His joy came to a quick, screeching halt when he noted the evidence of tears on Bill's face.

“Bill, oh my god. Where were you?” Tom asked, reaching out for the boy.

“Here.” Bill said abruptly, holding out a small book to Tom.

Tom frowned, “What is this?”

“It's my journal.” Bill replied, quietly, keeping his face placid.

Tom swallowed hard, feeling his stomach drop, “Why?”

“I've been keeping it since three years ago.” Bill said, “It's all my secrets.”

“Bill, why are you giving this to me?” Tom questioned, hesitating to take the journal.

Bill's eyes flickered with determination and frustration, “Just take it.”

“I can't read this . . .” Tom began, shaking his head.

“I'm telling you to.” Bill insisted, pressing the journal forcefully against Tom's chest, “Read it, and you'll know.”

“Bill, I-”

Bill gave the journal another nudge into Tom's chest and let go, forcing Tom to take it or let it fall to the ground. Tom grasped the small, worn book in his palms, feeling as if it weighed twenty pounds with what was bound to be world's worth of understanding inside.

Bill backed away, his eyes dark and guarded, barely hiding the fear inside them. Tom sensed that this act had taken all of Bill's courage, and that any moment he could change his mind out of fear.

“So, I guess, we can talk after you read it . . . or not.” Bill said, with a shrug.

“Bill, wait-”

Bill grabbed the door handle and swung the door shut before Tom could protest any further. He sputtered for a few moments, before yanking the door open again. Bill was already running across the grass toward his own cabin, quickly blending into the night shadows in his black apparel.

Tom sighed loudly and slammed the door closed once more. He was left gazing down at the little, yet huge book in his hands. He was inexplicably confused, but undeniably curious. Tom felt a wave of anxiety crawl up his chest, wondering exactly what could be hidden in these pages that would make Bill think Tom would ever change his mind about them.

What could Bill have done that was worse than Tom's own failures and wrongdoings?

 


	21. Dear Diary

The pages were wrinkled and worn from constant use, and covered in the indention of a firmly pressed pen. All of the ink was black, though the script was inconsistent – some written in flowing curves, others in rapid scribbles, still others in determined, block like letters.

Tom let the pages of the small journal flip from cover to back, and over again. Sitting on his bed, he wavered between reading the book or simply running after Bill to demand the boy tell it himself. The curiosity was eating away at him, but the idea of reading Bill's private thoughts felt like a violation even if Bill had given him permission.

Tom gave a frustrated growl and covered his face with one hand.

He knew this night would end only one way – with finding out the truth, whether it was from this journal or Bill. Getting the facts from Bill would likely be close to pulling teeth. From experience, Tom knew how hard it was to say the words aloud – admit what he had done. He wished he had a handy-dandy journal with which to share the truth to Bill. Getting the words past his lips was far too painful.

Tom smacked the journal against his thigh and rose from the bed. Pacing across the room, he glanced out the window at the rapidly darkening night. Soon, it would be lights out and Tom wouldn't have a chance to speak with Bill at all. It was now or never.

“Shit.” Tom muttered.

Without stalling any further, he flipped the cover open with shaking hands. The first page was labeled with a date. January 17, 2012. Two years ago.

 

_Dear Diary – how stupid does that sound?_

 

Tom almost smiled, hearing Bill voice saying those words in his head.

 

_This ain't a fucking diary, so don't get sentimental. I'm just trying to get my thoughts organized, and this was the closest paper available. Some lady last year told me it was a good idea, so since things aren't going too good, I thought it might help. I guess we'll see._

 

The period at the end of that sentence landed hard, as if Bill had paused, trying to think of what to write next.

 

_So, if this is a story, dear diary, let's call it a tragedy. And we'll have to go back a few years. My dad died three years ago. I was like eleven, so it hurt pretty bad. It was just me and my mom, so maybe I thought I could be strong and replace my dad or some shit. News to me – being the man of the house is harder than it fucking looks. You know the drill – getting in trouble at school, letting my grades slip, barely sleeping. Maybe I should have talked to Mom, but she seemed so fucking busy all the time, trying to work two jobs and keep us afloat._

 

Tom almost set the journal down right then and there. He already knew these facts, but hearing the words directly from Bill's heart made tears rush to his eyes. He remembered being a lost little kid, wondering why his dad got taken so soon. But his Mom had never struggled to keep them going – he'd always had what he needed, and his Mom had always been there at night to tuck him in. He hadn't suffered alone.

Tom slowly opened the book once more, and continued reading. Bill went on to describe how Gordon's business claimed the land their apartment was on, and how the relationship between he and Simone began. No abuse was mentioned in this part of the journal, but Tom suspected it wouldn't be long before he would find himself struggling through detailed descriptions.

His heart seized when he turned the page to a new entry. This one was dated January 10, 2012, and underneath it, written in bold letters was what Tom supposed to be a name – Anis.

 

_Hey, I'm back, Diary, and this time, I've got some really bad news for you. Are you ready? Well, here goes nothing._

_My grades were going down the toilet so bad that Gordon, that fucking asshole, made the executive decision to get me a personal tutor. I was not too happy about that, because I knew it would mean spending my afternoons after school getting tutored instead of at home. You already know I hate people, especially ones I don't know._

_So, on the first day of tutoring, I was mean as I could be to this guy. His name was Anis, some European mutt who's supposed to teach me English. Fucking ironic, right?_

_But I couldn't believe how nice he was to me. No matter how mean to him I was, he just kept smiling and saying nice shit like, you have pretty eyes, and I like your outfit today. Funny, I actually believed him._

_It got to be like, we were doing more talking than actual school work. I found out he'd recently been divorced and was still trying to get over that bitch. He said I was safe to tell him my problems if I wanted to talk. So I did. I thought he was a really nice dude. Cool and shit._

_I actually let it slip that I'm bisexual. Huh, weird, cuz I never told anybody that. Cuz I know it'll get back to my Mom and Gordon and they wouldn't be happy at all. Anis was like “No shit? So am I.” I couldn't fucking believe it. Not only had I found this cool dude that I could talk to, but we actually had this huge thing in common._

_And let me tell you, Diary, Anis is sexy. Thick, black hair, and dark eyes, and amazing olive skin. His arms are strong, and his hands could just swallow you up. I loved it when he would touch my shoulder, or my back, and hold my hand. Sometimes, he would just look into my eyes like he got lost in his way to find something. A few months in, I thought, “Shit, I have to be seeing things wrong.” Like I needed fucking glasses or some shit, because the way it looked to me was, he actually kind of like me. As in like LIKE me. What the fuck? Nobody likes me. You know how difficult I can be, Diary. But Anis pulled out all the stops to make me smile, and make me forget about what was happening at home. He made me feel worth it. Pretty fucking awesome feeling if you don't know._

_Then, we were hugging goodbye one day, and his mouth brushed up against mine. I felt this mini explosion in my chest, and everything went really warm and tingly. I thought maybe it was an accident, so I didn't say anything. But when I let myself think about it, I realized how much I liked it. And how much I wanted it to happen again._

 

Tom paused from reading and covered his mouth with his hand. His chest felt tight, as if he were on the verge of suffocating. His mind raced with the fresh facts on the paper before him, knowing exactly where this story – this tragedy – was headed. Still wishing he could change the past.

Skimming anxiously through the rest of the entry, he saw nothing but praise and adoration in the words Bill had written about his tutor. The entry ended with this sentence:

 

_On the anniversary of our fourth month as student and teacher, he kissed me. For real this time, not like an accident or something he was trying to sneak in. He really kissed me. And this time, I knew nothing was ever going to be the same again._

 

“Shit,” Tom muttered, cradling his head in his hands.

He felt sick to his stomach, and shaking with volatile anger. He wanted to jump into the pages of the journal and stop this tragedy from ever occurring. He already knew what would happen, and as horrible as it seemed, he wasn't so shocked to find this to be the truth. Bill had told him of numerous lovers, but had dared to trust Tom from the beginning. He had questioned Tom's motives, accused him of wanting more than friendship. It had been right in front of Tom's face the whole time.

Tom slapped the diary open once more, and began to skim through the words. His hands were trembling. He had to know, had to confirm his awful suspicions.

 

_We were just sitting there in tutoring one day when he got up from his desk and walked over to me. He took my out of my hand and looked down at me really serious. “Do you want to play a game?” He asked me. I shrugged and said ok. I think my chin dropped into my lap when he reached down and unzipped his pants. “I saw you looking.” He said, “Do you want to kiss me again? Down here this time?” I couldn't speak, my mouth was so dry and my tongue was in so many knots. He told me to just say no if I didn't want to, but stupid me – I wanted to. So I nodded and leaned forward. His cock was already really hard when he pushed it into my mouth. He grabbed onto my hair and kept pulling, even though I started moaning because it hurt. He forced his dick into my mouth over and over again. It was hard and I was almost choking. He came in my mouth. It tasted bad, but I didn't want to disappoint him, so I tried not to gag until he gave me a tissue. When it was over, I asked what the game was called. “What happens in this room, stays in this room.” He said._

 

_January 19, 2012_

_Don't get me wrong, Diary, I like to suck dick. But it gets old after awhile. That's what happened with me and Anis. He wanted me to suck it for him every day. As soon as I got into the room, he wanted me down on my knees, getting him off. When I tried to tell him I just wasn't into it today, he would get mad. When I pointed out I wasn't getting anything out of it, would get even angrier._

_One day, we got into such a huge fight about it, I told him I was gonna tell my parents and he would get carted off to jail for raping a little boy. He grabbed me by the neck and slammed me up against the wall. He growled in my face that if I ever did such a thing he was going to hurt me bad. He said he would tell my parents that I was bisexual and tell them about my former lovers. Don't make me sound like a whore, Diary. I was only fourteen. I hadn't been with that many people. But I had been with enough. He had me there. I couldn't tell a soul._

_After he let go of my neck he told me to get down on my knees and suck him. I didn't want to. I was scared and crying, and I didn't want cock in my mouth. I screamed it at him. He grabbed me again and forced me down. He shoved his cock in my mouth. I was choking, and I really couldn't breathe. I guess he realized I honestly was suffocating, so he pulled out and jacked off on my face._

_After it was over, and I washed my face, he told me to do two pages worth of math problems, as punishment I guess. The next day, he apologized over and over again. He was crying a little bit, and I thought he actually meant it. I was still mad, but I figured everyone messes up. I believed that for awhile, until he kept on asking for blowjobs, and started handling me rough when I didn't agree to it._

 

_January 22, 2012_

_Now that I'm older, I realize I should've told my parents everything from the beginning. The very first blowjob. But hey, I was only 14. What the fuck did I know? I thought Anis really cared about me._

_Those blowjobs went on for two months. I sucked cock every day for almost sixty days. For the first month, I did it because I thought it was fun and exciting. The second month, I did it because I was scared he would hurt me or tell my parents about my sexual activity with other students. I was in way over my head. I had only ever fingered girls, or sucked dicks. Anis was building up to something bigger, and the longer I let the situation go on, the sicker I became. I had a knot in my stomach all the time, and some days I didn't want to get out of bed. All I could think about was my tutoring session after school and how I was gonna have to suck Anis's dick or pay the consequences._

_So it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise when I went to tutoring one day and Anis was waiting for me with a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms. Shit, I should have run right then and there. We were still on school property. I could have fled the room and went to the principle's office and told him everything. But hey, hind sight is a bitch._

_Anis told me to come over here, so I went to him. He grabbed me by the face and kissed me. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and began to run his hands all over my body. I tried to protest and tell him I didn't want to. He put his hand around my neck and whispered in this very quiet, calm voice that made my whole body shiver in fear, “If you scream or try to run, I am going to hurt you.”_

_Then he turned me over the desk and ripped my pants down. I tried to fight him, but he kept a hand on my back, holding me down on the desk. He opened up the lube and put his fingers in me. Nobody had ever done this to me before, you understand? I didn't know what I was feeling. I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know if I should just relax and let it happen or if I should fight and chance being injured. He tried telling me to relax as he pushed his fingers into me. He tried threatening me. He even tried soothing me and telling me I was going to like it. Nothing worked, so I was all tensed up when he finally put the condom on and forced his cock into me. It hurt really fucking bad. I can still remember the pain, like a knife driving into me. I couldn't see shit because I was crying so hard. At first, I tried pulling myself away, fighting to get it out of me. I tried pleading and sobbing for him to stop, but he wouldn't. He put a hand over my mouth and told me to be quiet. He kept fucking me until I lost the fight. My limbs went weak from the pain, and it all just kind of went numb. It seemed like it went on forever. Maybe it only lasted a few minutes, but to me, it felt like an eternity. Like, what is forever? The moment you'll never forget, or the emptiness that's supposed to go on to infinity?_

 

~

 

A plume of smoke rose into the moist, night air, blocking out the luminous, full moon. Bill gazed through his cigarette smoke at that pale, white ball in the sky, and tried to focus on the calming affect of the nicotine. His stomach was doing turns, and despite his calm exterior, he wanted to launch himself off the porch steps and puke in the grass.

He remembered every word he had written in that journal. He had read each entry a dozen times or more, trying to find a way out of his life, trying to rip off his own skin and become someone different. Those words were like his heart's most secret poetry – but, what would Tom see?

Bill wasn't looking for sympathy. He never had been. He just wanted Tom to know the whole truth about him, but knowing Tom, the older man would come rushing to Bill's side, trying to be the savior.

Truth be told, Bill couldn't be saved. He wanted more than anything to be saved, but he was too far gone. The things that had happened to him, the things he had done, were forever written in stone – no going back and changing his mistakes.

Bill closed his eyes and drew on the cigarette through firmly pursed lips, taking in as much smoke as possible before exhaling forcefully. His lungs wheezed, coughing in rebellion, and he angrily threw the cigarette on the ground. Stomping out the remainder of the cigarette, he swore under his breath in between coughs until his eyes watered.

“Shit.” Bill muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He crossed his arms over his knees and laid his head down, searching for a moment of peace. Even in the vastness of the ranch, he couldn't find solitude; no place his thoughts and heartaches didn't follow.

Bill didn't know how long he sat in that position for, before the sound of rapid footsteps alerted him. He wasn't surprised to see Tom striding across the grass, the journal clutched in his hand. His eyes were full and bursting with a dozen emotions, black with anger and liquid with sadness. A million words were on his lips but when he halted just a few feet from Bill, he said nothing.

They gazed at each other for a few long moments, buried in silence except for the gentle breeze. Tom held the journal out in front of him, so tight his knuckles blanched white. Breathing heavily, he searched Bill's gaze for something – anything. Bill could read all his thoughts so clearly, but one plea echoed louder than all the rest – please don't let this be true, let this be a dream.

Bill coughed into the dead silence, and slowly rose from the porch steps.

“It's all true.” He whispered, reaching out to take the book from Tom, “Every last word.”

Tom pursed his lips tightly. He didn't let go of the journal, even as Bill wrapped his fingers around the binding. Deep, sorrowful emotion was written clearly across his face; a trace of tears glinted in the corners of his eyes.

“I don't want sympathy.” Bill continued, his voice raw and choked, “I just want you to know. I want you to know because I want this to last. And if it's going to last, you have to know this about me. You're going to have to deal with all my shit, Tom. All my depression, and angry outbursts, and all the times I get mad at you for no reason. You're going to have to understand and try to-”

“Why?” Tom's voice cut through Bill's rambling plea, as cleanly as a knife through butter.

His voice was thick and low, trembling, on the verge of anger. Bill let his words die on his lips, and blinked rapidly.

“Why?” Tom continued, reaching out to grab Bill by the shoulders.

Bill blinked rapidly, trying to understand Tom's meaning. The rancher's eyes were dark and fierce, but the anger was pitted against emptiness and desperation. Bill had never seen this look in Tom's eyes, or heard this tone in his voice. He surely hadn't expected this type of reaction. Bill almost considered pulling away because Tom's fingers gripped him so hard, but in the next moment, he was enveloped in Tom's arms.

Tom's left arm wrapped securely around Bill's middle, while his right hand cradled the back of Bill's head, nearly suffocating Bill in his embrace. Bill found it hard to breathe with his face buried in Tom's chest and sudden emotion choking his throat, however, he didn't want Tom to let him go. Despite not wanting sympathy or crying, he now he felt safer than ever before in his life.

“Why couldn't I protect you?”

The words drew themselves slowly, raggedly from Tom's lips, on the breath of moan. They were quiet and strangled by emotion, but therein lay the greatest sadness Bill had ever heard. In that moment, Bill wasn't even sure Tom was speaking to him anymore.

 

 


	22. It Doesn't Change A Thing

Day 17

 

The barn was peaceful and undisturbed except for the occasional knicker and musty hay filtering through the sunlit air. Bill had come to think of this barn as a secret hideaway for he and Tom; his mind was always at rest here, not bothered by the outside world and troubles.

It was past lunchtime as Bill entered the barn. He was wearing plain jeans and white undershirt, with his messy hair tied back in a ponytail.

After tossing and turning last night, he had finally managed to fall asleep around four a.m. and sleep straight through breakfast and lunch. He wasn't fully awake yet, but he had to find Tom. Their conversation last night had been cut short by Peter's reminder that it was very late.

Bill looked in all the stalls he passed until he found Tom. Tom was in the very end stall, which had been cleared out to make room for all the tack and tools. Head bent over a bridle he was working to repair, Tom didn't even notice Bill's presence until Bill whispered a hello.

“Oh, hi.” Tom said, smiling warmly when he saw Bill leaning against the door frame, “I missed you at lunch.”

“I was asleep still.” Bill replied, quietly, “I couldn't get to sleep last night so I ended up sleeping through my alarm.”

“Yeah, I had trouble too.” Tom replied, brow furrowing.

Bill bit his lower lip and gazed down the scuffed toes of his boots. He knew that telling Tom the truth had been the right choice, but he hated the now awkward silence between them.

“Look, I wanted to talk to you since Peter cut us off last night.” Bill said, at last, glancing up at Tom, “I didn't mean to throw all that at you and then not explain.”

“I think you explained enough.” Tom said, softly, “You don't have to explain being taken advantage of . . .”

“I'm not a victim.” Bill snapped, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks.

Tom's eyes flashed with disbelief, “You aren't?”

“No.” Bill crossed his arms, “I am here today because I chose to fight and survive, and not cave to the depression that wanted to swallow me up every day.”

“Are you trying to tell me you're over what happened to you with that bastard?” Tom asked, setting the bridle aside and rising to his feet, “Because I know for a fact that something so life changing like that doesn't go away in a couple of years and journal entries.”

“Oh, so you know what it's like?” Bill retorted angrily, “You know what its like be fooled into trusting someone, and then raped repeatedly. Screaming for help, but no one hears – no one even cares?”

They both stopped abruptly, breathing hard and flushed.

Tom lifted a hand to cover his eyes for a moment, and slowly exhaled.

“I'm sorry.” He said, quietly, “That's not what I meant.”

“Fuck.” Bill muttered, clenching his hands into fists, “I didn't mean to yell either.”

“So . . .” Tom said, spreading his hands amiably, “What did you want to explain?”

“Basically what I just said.” Bill replied, quietly, “I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm not looking for someone to save me. I just want . . . I want you to be the one to know. Because I love you, and I think you deserve to know . . .”

Tom sighed and reached out to stroke Bill's cheek, “Did you think that journal would somehow change how I feel about you?”

Bill moved closer to Tom's open arms, “I hoped it wouldn't.”

“What does that mean?”

“I feel guilty, Tom.” Bill said, feeling his throat tighten with familiar anger, “I encouraged Anis . . . and to a degree, I wanted him.”

“Bill, no.” Tom began, shaking his head.

“For awhile, I thought, 'well, maybe, I deserved it for being too easy'.” Bill added, tearfully.

“No.” Tom said, more firmly, “That's bullshit, and you know it. No one asks to be raped. And definitely no one deserves it.”

Bill reached up to dash an escaping tear before the rest came flooding out. He sniffed quietly and anxiously glanced up at Tom, “So . . . you don't think . . . You don't think differently of me, or think I'm a whore?”

“No, no, of course not.” Tom said fiercely, squeezing Bill's shoulders, “You were a fourteen year old boy, way in over your head. You didn't know, or want what was going to happen. That bastard is the villain here, Bill, not you. He was an adult, fully capable of making the right decision – and he made the wrong one. He took advantage of a young, innocent child. He should be punished for what he did.”

Bill gave a ghost of a smile and let his eyes slide shut. Tom's love washed over him again, cleansing the open wounds that Bill pretended had healed long ago. He wondered what he had ever done to deserve this man.

“I just . . .” Tom's brows furrowed deeply. He cradled Bill's cheeks gently in both hands and brushed his thumb across Bill's lower lip, “I'm just worried about you, that's all. You're health and well-being. I know you're home life isn't helpful for what you've gone through, and that upsets me.”

“I haven't told my parents.” Bill said, quietly, “I told my therapist, and she wanted to call the cops.”

“Why didn't you let her?” Tom asked.

“Because.” Bill shrugged, “By the time my parents realized I needed counseling, it was over. We moved to L.A. and I never had to see Anis again.”

“But he still could have gone to jail for it.”

“But then I would have to go back to New York, go to court, and tell everyone in that trial what happened to me. I would have to relive the whole thing over again and I just couldn't.” Bill said, shaking his head, “I just wanted to forget what happened.”

“Blocking it from your memory doesn't erase the scars.” Tom whispered, drawing Bill closer, “And neither does time, no matter what everyone says. I just worry that you're not as okay as you act.”

Bill gave a mirthless smile, “Tom, I'm never going to be okay. Not really.”

Tom frowned, “That's not right.”

Bill laid his head against Tom's chest and wrapped his arms tightly around Tom's waist.

“Maybe I won't be okay, but maybe I can be happy. With you.”

Hooking his fingers under Bill's chin, Tom turned Bill's face up so that he could press a warm, loving kiss to Bill's mouth. Bill latched on, lengthening the kiss to a long, deep, intimate exchange of tongue and saliva. Tom laced his fingers into Bill's hair and guided the boy's head back, while his other hand lingered at Bill's jawline. They kissed back and forth, tongues licking and caressing thoroughly, until they were both breathless.

When their mouths broke apart, Tom dropped another kiss on Bill's forehead.

“Have you eaten today?”

“No.” Bill replied.

“I think I have something in the fridge in my cabin.” Tom said.

“Okay, let's go.” Bill smiled.

Leaving the unfinished bridle on the bench, Tom led them out of the barn. They walked in silence across the grass to Tom's cabin, and this time, the quiet was comfortable. Bill was relieved that the journal hadn't changed Tom's feelings for him, and that only made Bill love him more.

When they reached the cabin, they kicked off their shoes by the door, and Tom went to the fridge to hunt up lunch for Bill.

“I've got what looks like some lunch meat and maybe potato salad . . .” Tom's voice said, muffled from the confines of the refrigerator, “I guess I could cook some eggs . . .”

Pulling his head out of the fridge, Tom glanced over his shoulder at Bill. He did a double take when he saw that Bill had lost his tank top somewhere between the door and the kitchen. Bill smiled playfully and twirled a strand of hair around his index finger.

Tom cleared his throat as he felt his face heat up and his crotch immediately respond.

“Jesus, Bill. Aren't you hungry?”

“Nope.” Bill shrugged.

He reached down and unzipped the front of his pants. The loose jeans sagged down his tiny hips until they were barely clinging to his thighs. Almost his entire boxers, and the prominent bulge in the front, were visible.

Tom slammed the refrigerator shut and rushed across the room. Bill's delighted smile burst past the steamy, seductive gaze he had been attempting to hold. Tom scooped Bill up in his arms and kept walking, ushering them quickly into the bedroom. Setting Bill down on the edge of the bed, Tom bent his head to kiss Bill hard. Their mouths met roughly, teeth and tongue clashing in their rampant desire. Bill moaned aloud, urging Tom to move faster.

Tom ripped Bill's pants off his legs and moved on to the tight boxers that barely held back Bill's throbbing erection. The material nearly rent under Tom's grasp before they were discarded to the floor. Bill gasped as Tom pushed him back onto the bed and forced his legs wide open. Tom gazed down at Bill's naked body with dark, lustful eyes; a burning gaze that made Bill's body quiver and his insides turn to hot liquid. His cock twitched eagerly against his stomach, and he arched his hips up, hoping Tom would touch him.

Tom crawled onto the bed between Bill's spread legs and sealed his mouth over Bill's. They kissed long and hot, building the desire that already burned through their veins. Tom stroked both hands over Bill's body, worshiping every inch of soft, alabaster skin, until he reached Bill's hard, aching cock. His hand barely ghosted over the needy flesh, wringing a groan from Bill's lips.

Tom sucked at Bill's lower lip just as his fingers curled under the smooth, aching balls. Bill gasped, pulling his lips from Tom's hold. He threw his head back, groaning explosively as Tom began to fondle his balls, making them want to rupture with need.

“Tom, please.” Bill panted, pulling on Tom's hair.

Tom's breath heated Bill's neck, and his lips rushed downward to greet the spiking pulse. He kissed the warm, smooth skin tenderly, and assaulted it with licked and tiny love bites. Bill writhed under the caresses Tom lavished upon him, overwrought with desire, overwhelmed with love.

Tom's fingers slipped down to stroke the tight, little hole. They both shuddered with need, thinking about Tom's cock sliding into that space. Bill's body arched instinctively when Tom's caress sent unbearable currents of need through his body. He clutched Tom's shoulders and moaned low, and long.

“Oh Tom . . .”

Tom stroked his finger in a slow, deliberate circle around Bill's hole, relishing the tenderness of the flesh and the little quiver of muscle each time he got close to penetration.

“Tom, please.” Bill ground out. He nudged at Tom's shoulder to push him upright, “Where's the lube?”

Tom chuckled, and held out a soothing hand, “All right, I'll get it. No need to get excited.”

Bill scowled at Tom as Tom rose from the bed to fetch the lube and condoms from the drawer.

“I'm excited all right.” Bill said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I want you to fuck me right now, Tom.”

Tom's eyes flashed with desire. He didn't tease Bill further. Crossing the room with the supplies in hand, he motioned toward Bill's folded arms, “Don't hold your arms like that. Put them above your head.”

Bill swallowed back squeak of pure arousal. He wouldn't be admitting it any time soon, but he loved it when Tom got all serious and commanding in the bedroom. He turned into this feral beast that would stop at nothing to have them both cumming in the best manner possible.

Bill slowly raised his arms over his head and settled his legs farther apart. Setting a needy gaze on Tom, he tried his best not to fall apart into an aching, throbbing mess of desire.

Tom stripped out of his own his own clothes, giving Bill a familiar thrill when he unveiled his long, thick cock. Tom slid back between Bill's legs. Grasping Bill's ankles, he bent his legs up against his chest to leave his bare ass exposed. Bill drew in a shuddering breath as Tom doused with fingers with lube and pressed them up against Bill's hole. His body clenched hard, and his belly burst with fresh heat. A groan worked it's way past his clenched teeth.

Tom rubbed his fingers in a gentle, yet firm circle, causing Bill's muscles to open to his touch. His fingers didn't linger long on the puckered entrance; Bill began to moan and squirm, begging Tom to touch him inside. Tom eased his index finger forward, dividing tender, clenched flesh. His fingers sank in to the knuckle, making Bill moan louder.

“Yes, Tom . . .”

Tom's other hand reached up to stroke Bill's thigh while he pumped his finger in and out of the tight, wet heat. His pace started out slow and steady, but with each thrust of his hand, he grew more impatient to have Bill open for his cock. He quickly paired a second finger with the first and thrust both inside. Bill gave a strangled cry and arched against Tom's hand. Grabbing onto his knees to keep his legs in position, Bill panted and begged for more.

Tom's hand covered one of Bill's, pushing Bill's thighs tight against his chest. Bill's hole was exposed and vulnerable to Tom's fingers. He moaned louder, head snapping back against the sheets in pleasure, as Tom began to pump his fingers in and out of Bill's tight, tender hole. Tom's hand was relentless, fucking Bill until the muscles could resist no longer, and he was open and aching, his body thrumming with the desire for Tom's cock.

“Tom, please!” Bill cried, bucking against the pressure of Tom's hand on his knee.

Tom paused for a moment, but Bill's hopes of getting Tom's dick in him were crushed, when Tom only added more lube to fingers. When Tom's hand returned, he lined up three fingers and slowly pushed them into Bill's hole.

Bill's mouth opened in a strangled cry as Tom's three fingers stretched his hole. They sank all the way inside, leaving Bill feeling completely occupied, yet still aching for more. He grasped at the sheets with one hand, and moaned pathetically as Tom's fingers drew back. A moan burst from his lips when Tom's fingers penetrated him again, hard and demanding. Bill cried louder, feet kicking helplessly through the air above him. Tom's fingers violated him harder and faster, stretching him open to the maximum and reaching to his prostate. His cock throbbed angrily, chasing the release that dangled just out of his reach.

“Tom, please!” He cried, slamming his fist into the mattress.

His foot bounced off of Tom's shoulder, doing little damage, but igniting some feral fire under Tom. His fingers ripped out of Bill's body, and he flipped Bill onto his stomach. Bill's face landed in the sheets, and he came up gasping for air. His body was pounding with desire, and he was wordlessly begging Tom to fuck him hard. He had always imagined it would be this way between them, but this was the first time Tom was actually handling him so firmly – just the way Bill wanted.

Tom quickly rolled a condom on and lubed himself with rapid pumps of his fist. Bill looked over his shoulder with heavy eyelids and pouting lips, enticing Tom further. He began to rise up on his hands and knees, but he pushed him back down on his face. Crawling up behind Bill, Tom grasped Bill's hip with one hand, pulling his ass up against Tom's throbbing cock. Bill moaned and drooled into the sheets as Tom pushed his cock into the tight, hot space, slowly, completely filling Bill's aching hole.

“Oh yes . . .” Bill moaned, rocking his hips back against Tom's cock.

Tom grunted in his ear as their body fit together.

“God, you're so tight.” He marveled once more in a low, choked voice.

Tom pumped his hips at a steady pace, letting Bill's body take his cock and accept it. When he felt Bill's muscles begin to relax, he moved faster, eager to satisfy them both. Bill lifted his face from the sheets, panting and moaning.

“Yes, Tom . . .” He groaned in encouragement, “Fuck me.”

Tom's fingers tightened around Bill's hip and he thrust his hips harder into Bill's upraised ass. His cock drove into Bill's hole at deep, steady rhythm, quickly greeting Bill's tender prostate. Bill cried out, throwing his head back in pleasure.

“Yes, there! Oh yes . . .”

Tom grabbed onto a handful of Bill's hair and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. Keeping one hand in Bill's hair and the other on his hip, he came at Bill's willing, needy body with hard, driving thrusts. Their bodies began to smack together, and the bed squeaked under their weight. Bill thought he could hear the frame begin to tap the wall, but he was so engrossed in the pleasure, he could hardly notice anything but Tom's cock slamming into him.

Loud panting and groaning filled the air, barely concealing the wet sounds of Tom's cock pumping into Bill's stretched open hole. Tom didn't let off his pace. He fucked into Bill relentlessly, searching for their pleasure in a storm of incoherent need. He focused solely on the friction, and desire, and pleasure building between them. He couldn't think about controlling his own body anymore; he was completely controlled by the desire and love. And he couldn't be any happier to be insane with his love for Bill.

It wasn't long before Bill was reaching down to grab his cock. The pleasure was racing fast through his veins with Tom's cock pounding away at his prostate, and he didn't think he would last much longer. He didn't care about lasting, and he didn't think Tom did either. They were both hungry to get off and bask in the pleasure and love after the previous, grueling night.

Bill jacked eagerly at his cock, feeling moisture dripping from the tip with the closeness of the orgasm.

“Tom, Tom. . .” He groaned, “I'm need . . . I'm going to . . .”

“That's it, baby.” Tom encouraged, driving into Bill's ass with abandon, “Come on . . .”

“Oh, oh . . .” Bill moaned.

His eyes slammed shut, and his face twisted in pleasure. The orgasm came rushing up inside him, bursting from every nerve-ending, and exploding inside him with brilliant, white-hot force. His body jerked and clamped tight around Tom's inserted cock, milking the pleasure straight out of Tom. Bill could feel Tom's own spasms of orgasm just as his own pleasure was wilting into a delightful memory. He sank down against the sheets, and smiling lazily as he felt Tom fill the condom with release.

Tom slowly pulled out and removed the condom. After dropping the condom in the trash, he dropped to the sheets next to Bill. He ran his fingertips over Bill's shoulder and down his spine, relishing the smoothness of the flesh and the light dew of perspiration. Bill's insides warmed with the gentle touch. His body was humming with happiness, and he felt light as air – none of his earlier concerns were weighing him down. Swimming in this place of peace and intimacy, he wondered how he had ever doubted their love.

 

~

 

That evening, Tom had to oversee charades because Kendra, one of the usual staff members who orchestrated the games, was severely ill. Bill gladly agreed to go with Tom to the charades, though he doubted he would be participating. He just wanted to spend every second that he could with Tom.

They arrived in the rec hall a few minutes early to set up folding chairs and help the kitchen staff arrange the snacks. Quickly growing bored with the activity, Bill wandered to the back of the room and leaned against to wall to scroll through his phone. No new text or facebook messages, but there was a missed call from his mother that he hadn't noticed before.

Frowning, Bill ducked out into the hallway. He dialed his mother's cellphone number and held it to his ear. Typically, he didn't give a fuck if his mom was trying to reach him, but a niggling in the back of his mind made him want to know her reasons for calling. The threat of he and Tom being separated, along with the confrontation with Peter, had both made him anxious.

His mother picked up the phone on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it's me.” Bill said, keeping his voice down in quiet hallway.

“Oh, hi! I was trying to call you.”

“Yeah, I was busy. What's up?” Bill asked, pacing a few feet down the hallway.

“I just wanted to see what's been going on.” She replied, “Gordon told me he isn't interested in a video conference this week.”

“What? Really?”

Bill felt his stomach drop. No video conference this week should have been good news, but Bill knew better. Gordon always had to be in control, always had to know what was going on, always had to micro-manage everything. He wouldn't miss out on the details of Bill's week on the Miranda just because he didn't feel like it or was too busy. He was so fucking invested in prying Tom away from Bill.

“Yeah, he's trying to close out a business deal this week and he's been really stressed. I guess he didn't want the hassle.” Simone said, with a sigh.

“Yeah, because I know I'm always such a problem for him.” Bill said, bitterly.

“That's not what I meant.” His mom replied, quietly.

“Yeah, but that's how it is. God, sometimes I wonder why I was so against leaving L.A. at the beginning of this month. I should have been happy. It's been the best two and a half weeks of my life.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear you're enjoying yourself.” Simone said, stiffly.

Silence buzzed across the line for a few awkward moments before Bill cleared his throat.

“Was there anything else? There's this activity that's about to start in a few minutes, so . . .”

“I just wanted to know how you were doing.” Simone replied, “That's all. I wanted to hear your voice since there will be no conference this week.”

“I'm good.” Bill replied, evasively, “Couldn't be better.”

“Are you sure? I know, things have been rough with you and Gordon . . .”

“You mean how he wants to take away the only friend I have out here?” Bill asked, sharply, “Tom.”

“Gordon has his reasons for being mistrustful.”

“Ha.” Bill gave a short, loud laugh and shook his head, “And supposedly he has his reasons for hitting me, too, but no one ever argues with that.”

“Bill, I'm sorry.” Simone replied, her voice muted and pained, “I've not been a very good mother lately.”

Bill closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh. They had avoided this conversation for so long, and now she wanted to do it over the phone.

“Just so you know,” Bill said, quietly, his voice strained with emotion, “I'm happier here than I have ever been at home. And when I turn eighteen and have all the legal rights of an adult, I'll be leaving you and Gordon, and coming back here. For good.”

Before he could hear the response, he ended the call with a stab of his thumb over the button. Tears pounded at the backs of his eyes, though he wasn't quite sure what they were for. Being so cruel to his own mother, or realizing he would never get his real mother back – ever?

Bill drew in steadying breaths and quickly wiped his eyes. He didn't want Tom to see that he had been crying.

“Fuck,” He muttered angrily.

Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he pushed away from the wall and walked back into the rec room.

“Hey, where did you go?” Tom asked, crossing the room to where Bill had just entered.

“Phone call.” Bill said, forcing a smile onto his lips, “It's nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked, lowered his voice, “You looked kind of worried.”

Bill shrugged, “It was just my mom.”

“Okay.” Tom replied, not all sounding convinced, “We can talk later.”

“I'd rather not.” Bill said, crossing his arms and staring past Tom at the opposite wall.

“Okay.” Tom repeated, slowly, “Well, um, just take a seat back here until I get things going and then I can come sit with you for the rest of the game.”

“All right.” Bill said, flashing a smile that he wasn't feeling.

Tom was frowning as he walked away. Bill could only imagine all the worried thoughts racing through Tom's head, but he wasn't in the mood to discuss the phone call just because it would ease Tom's mind.

Bill sat down in the back corner and watched as guests and a few ranch hands began to file in. It wasn't a large group, but Bill imagined he and Tom could be stuck here for awhile, watching this dumb game. With a sigh, he checked his phone again, hoping his battery power wouldn't run out before they were freed from chaperone duties.

Tom introduced himself, explained the rules of the game, and divided the assembled group into teams. After the first few guests took a stab at acting out the characters written on pieces of paper in a large bowl, Tom drifted to the back of the room to join Bill. He pulled up a folding chair and sat down next to Bill, concern clear in his dark brown eyes. He gave Bill's knee a brief pat and turned his gaze to the front of room.

Bill's gaze was focused on the front of the room, where a dozen people were laughing and shouting out guesses, but he couldn't see or hear any of it. Sound was white noise in his ears, and his vision was blurred with tears. His heart thudded a sick, sluggish beat in his chest while his stomach churned in anxiety. He didn't quite know what he was afraid of, but something deep down inside him told him to relish these last few days with Tom.

In another week, Bill would be going back to L.A. and he might never see Tom again. Despite their best efforts to stay in contact, they would be worlds apart. Bill knew this wasn't some fucking fairy-tale. Real life didn't work itself out into a happy ending, and it definitely didn't deal Bill Trumper all the right cards. He was clinging onto this relationship, this happiness, by bare threads – and a part of him wondered if he should have ever started it; if he should end it now before his heart got broken into a million pieces.

Bill lurched out of his chair, unable to stand sitting so close to Tom, fighting back the tears, any longer. Tom started up out of his chair, but Bill waved a hand at him to stay. He rushed across the room to the table where the refreshments were laid out. Trying to appear casual, he grabbed a paper cup with one trembling hand and poured out a glass of punch.

He drank slowly, trying to swallow back the huge lump in his throat and get the emotion under control. He closed his eyes and counted the seconds until the panic inside him ebbed and his fingers ceased to shake. His mind and heart felt fragile and splintered with doubt. He wished he could run and hide from his problems, but there was nowhere on this ranch to go.

“Hey, stranger.”

Bill's eyes snapped open when a familiar voice spoke right next to him. Bill gave Nora a blank, uninterested look, wondering how much more he could take before he snapped. The last thing he wanted to do right now was have a conversation with his annoying girl.

“Hello?” He said, snatching a cookie from one of the platters, “Can I help you?”

“You look down.” Nora shrugged, “Is it because of Tom?”

“What the hell?” Bill snapped, “Why are you even asking me that?”

“Just because . . .” She said, smiling sweetly. Glancing over her shoulder at Tom, she leaned closer to Bill and whispered, “I saw him talking to some girl . . .Tiffany, I think? I don't know, they looked pretty cozy.”

“I know about Tiffany.” Bill snorted, “And Tom doesn't care about her . .. Besides, why should I care what girl he hangs out with? He's not my boyfriend or anything.”

“Oookay.” Nora said, shrugging, “See ya later, Bill.”

She turned and walked away. Rejoining the group of guests watching charades, she sat down next to Dirk McAllister, of all people. Bill glared after her, wondering how much force it would take to throttle her.

He lingered a few moments longer next to the refreshment table before bolting from the room. He didn't even glance at Tom as he escaped into the hallway and headed for the door at a rapid pace. His heart was accelerating as fast as his feet, and he felt sick to his stomach.

Nora was just a dumb, jealous, teenage girl. He shouldn't believe a word that came out of her stupid mouth.

And maybe he didn't believe her. But what she said scared him. It scared him, thinking of the possibilities, and wondering if Tom really was being honest. He couldn't be honest about his wife and daughter; could he be honest about Tiffany? Was he just experimenting with gay sex because it seemed fun, or did he really care about Bill?

Bill burst out into the clean, cool night air. His head was pounding and dizzy, confused.

Stumbling down the stairs, he fell to his knees in the gravel pathway that led past the rec hall and the main building several yards away. Sucking in deep breaths and forcing back tears, he told himself to calm down. Pull it together. Tom was likely right behind him, wondering what the hell was going on.

As if on cue, Bill heard the front door open and slam shut, followed by rapid footsteps.

“Bill, are you okay?”

Bill lifted his head and swiped tears from his cheeks. He needed to stand up.

“Are you hurt?”

Tom's boots hammered loudly down the steps until he was kneeling next to Bill, a hand on his back. Bill closed his eyes as the familiar brush of fingertips graced his cheek.

“What happened?” Tom asked, insistently.

“Nothing . . . I mean . .. everything.” Bill whispered.

“What? Come on, look at me.” Tom whispered, gently turning Bill's face toward him.

Bill slowly cracked his eyelids open and gazed into Tom's wide, brown eyes. There was so much concern, and love there. Bill wanted so badly to trust it without doubt, to let himself freefall knowing there was a net to catch him.

“My mom called. Gordon doesn't want a conference tomorrow.” Bill replied, quietly, “And I know that's a bad thing because usually he wants to know everything that I'm doing here, down to when I take a fucking dump.”

Tom's brows furrowed lightly, “What is he doing?”

“I don't know.” Bill lifted his shoulders, “Biding his time . . . Getting Peter to do his dirty work. Who the fuck knows? He's Gordon – it doesn't have to make sense.”

Tom sighed and pulled Bill into an embrace.

“We're gonna make it through this.” Tom whispered, patting Bill's back, “I know we can.”

Bill squeezed his eyes shut. All the scared, distrustful voices faded into the background, muffled by the solace Bill found wrapped in Tom's love. He pressed his forehead against Tom's shoulder, hoping this moment would always be enough to keep himself from pulling away too fast.

 

 


	23. Defeat

Day 18

 

Tiffany Young eyed the vice president from across the mess hall. Her hands shook where she held them clutched underneath the table, not touching her food. Her stomach churned, partially from the nerves, partially from the withdrawl.

She cast a harried glance in Nora's direction. The other girl smiled back at her, encouraging as she was vile.

Tiffany really hated herself for doing this – throwing herself at Mr. Kaulitz and acting like a whore. But Dirk had already given her one dose of the meth and she needed more. She couldn't tell which she disliked more – being their pawn or being addicted to drugs.

Tiffany pressed a hand over her forehead and drew in deep breaths. She wanted to cry.

She had always been the good girl when she was little. Excelled in classes, became the teacher's pet, befriended everyone, and most certainly did not misbehave. She wasn't sure where she had tripped and fallen, but she feared she was too far gone for recovery. Her parents didn't even know she was doing drugs. They didn't know she had lost her virginity a year and a half ago. They didn't know any of her problems. That was why she had to get her drugs from people like Dirk and Nora.

The minutes ticked on slowly until lunch was over. Tiffany watched as Tom got up from the table and followed Ms. Franz upstairs. She had been watching for enough days to realize that they always had a meeting after lunch. Bill stayed downstairs or disappeared outside.

Tiffany blinked away the lingering moisture in her eyes and got up from the table. Trying to appear as casually as possible, she walked across the mess hall and mounted the stairs up to the offices. She let out a breath of relief when she made it up the stairs without anyone noticing. She couldn't screw this up.

Tip-toeing down the hall, Tiffany paused when she heard voices from behind one of the closed doors. Up ahead, she could see that the door was labeled with Ms. Franz's name. Tiffany hid behind the corner and waited anxiously. She wasn't quite sure how long these meetings lasted, and she didn't look forward to waiting for an hour – but she had to do what she had to do.

Tiffany watched the clock on her iPhone count down the minutes. It was torturous, standing in the hallway, waiting for every excruciating minute to pass, thinking about her plan, thinking about her next hit. It was eating her away inside; she couldn't think about the morality of her actions anymore. All she could think about was the high, the escape, and feeling so light no one could ever bring her down.

Tiffany jumped when she heard the door open.

“Yeah, we'll get it worked out, Nati . . . I'll see you later.”

Tiffany quickly rearranged her face, pushing down the anxiety. She was smiling brilliantly when Tom rounded the corner, unaware.

“Mr. Kaulitz!” She gushed, letting her limbs go noodle like as they collided, “I was just looking for you.”

Looking up at him, seeing the shock and dread on his face, she felt a pang of regret. He was handsome and appealing. His eyes were warm brown, and his hands were always gentle when they moved her aside no matter how agitated her repeated appearances made him. He was the kind of guy that could be her savior, she thought. Maybe in another life.

“Oh, uh . . . Tiffany.” He said, frowning. His gaze darted up and down the hall, searching for escape, “I'm sorry, I need to be somewhere.”

“That's okay, I just wanted to give you something.” She said, letting the dizziness in her head make her sound brainless.

She pulled the pen out of her pocket and grabbed his hand.

“What are you . . .?”

He resisted at first, but held still when he felt the tip of the pen dig into his skin. Tiffany wrote quickly, ignoring the warmth of his hand, and callouses from hard labor. They were the hands of an honest man – an honest man she was working so hard to ruin for one little high.

Tiffany scribbled out the last few numbers and backed away.

“We'll talk later.”

She forced herself to wink and smile before fleeing the hallway. Her legs felt numb and her head spun as she dashed down the stairs, hoping to not fall. The weight of what she had done struck her just then, like a ton of bricks. She had been desperate before, always desperate, but now there was desperation inside her, to go back and change everything she had done.

Once she stumbled her way across the mess hall, Tiffany pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed the number she had already learned by heart.

Nora picked up quickly.

“Hello, darling.” Nora crooned, her tone full of conniving and delight, “How did it go?”

“I did it.” Tiffany whispered, “But . . . Nora, I don't know . . . This doesn't feel right.”

“Right?” Nora chuckled, “Oh, honey.”

“Don't condescend to me.” Tiffany snapped, pushing the front door of the lobby open and storming out onto the front deck, “I know it's not right. That's why we should stop.”

“Stop? Tiff, the damage is already done.”

“Okay, but give me the stuff and we're done.” Tiffany replied, keeping her voice low so that the hands loitering on the deck wouldn't hear.

“Look, I need one more thing out of you.” Nora replied, impatiently, “If you don't do it, we're not going to give you your precious little drugs.”

“What?” Tiffany exclaimed.

She sank to her butt on one of the porch steps, feeling like someone had punched her in the stomach.

“We had a deal.”

“Rules have changed.” Nora said, coldly, “Do us one last favor, and you can have two hits if you want.”

“Shit.” Tiffany muttered, covering her face with one hand.

She had come all the way to this horse ranch with her equestrian club, expecting to escape all her problems in Seattle. But somehow, the rest of her life seemed to hinge on a place of emptiness and anonymity no where near the place she called home. She knew, if she did this, she would regret it for the rest of her life. There would be no going back.

Tiffany cringed as the felt that gnawing desire gape even wider inside her. The insistent need, the irritation like a bug crawling under her skin. She wanted to bang her head against the wall to make it disappear, would do anything to make it stop.

“Okay.” Tiffany whispered, at last, “What do you want me to do?”

 

~

 

Tom scrubbed vigorously at the black ink on the back of his hand, trying to make the numbers disappear. He didn't know why the hell this girl was so stuck on him, but he was becoming more than frustrated. If Bill saw a phone number written on his hand, he would immediately assume that Tom was cheating on him. Worse yet, he would call the number and realize it was the girl who had been following Tom around for the last week.

Tom knew he should be more firm with Tiffany, but he wasn't an aggressive person. He didn't want to hurt her feelings or destroy her confidence to approach a guy. Maybe she really was a nice girl, and just didn't know what she was doing wrong.

Tom sighed as he toweled his hands dry. The ink wasn't completely gone, but he hoped it would fade in the next few days. He had no real explanation for it's presence.

Tom threw the towel down when he heard a knock on the front door of his cabin. Striding out of the bathroom and through the kitchen, he made out Bill's figure through the screen door. Bill had missed lunch again, which worried Tom. The news of no video conference should have been a good thing, but Bill's reaction last night had told a different story.

Tom opened the screen door and was immediately accosted by an armful of Bill. The boy jumped into his arms and latched on, snuggling up against Tom's chest.

“Hi, Tom.”

“Hey, there.” Tom chuckled, smoothing Bill's soft, fine hair with an endearing hand.

Bill smiled up at Tom, left a fleeting kiss on the corner of his mouth, and snuggled back down again.

Tom wrapped his arms around Bill's waist and gave him a squeeze.

“You skipped lunch again. You okay?” Tom asked, softly.

“Yeah.” Bill mumbled into Tom's chest, “Just trying to sleep away most of this day.”

“Why's that?”

“I don't know. I've got a bad feeling.”

Tom swallowed hard, and felt his stomach drop. He had a bad feeling about Tiffany, but he couldn't confide in Bill about that situation.

“Come on, let's get rid of it.” Tom suggested, forcing a light tone.

Bill pulled back, wiping strands hair from his cheeks. His honey-brown eyes were soft and hopeful, so trusting. Tom still wondered how he had earned that trust, when so many others had failed.

“How?” Bill asked.

Tom canted his head toward the doorway behind him, “Bedroom?”

Bill's mouth curved, mischievously, “Okay.”

Tom put his arm over Bill's shoulders and led them through the kitchen and into his bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, leaving the room in half-darkness, the perfect light for their lovemaking.

Tom pulled Bill around in front of him and sealed their lips together. He poured all his love and frustration into that kiss, wishing for the exterior problems to disappear in the heat of their union. Bill returned the kiss with ardor, hands scrambling over Tom's body to tug at clothing. They pulled the material off their needy skin, ripping seams in their desire. Both panting and clinging, they fell to the bed together, rubbing naked skin against naked skin and groaning when their hard cocks chafed.

“Oh, Tom.” Bill whimpered.

He clasped Tom's ass with both hands and rutted their crotches together, searching for release. Tom bit back a groan and forced his hips back to slow down their momentum. As much as he wanted Bill every second of every day, there was always something reminding him this arrangement was temporary – he had to make it last.

Grasping Bill's jaw gently, Tom kissed a path down Bill's neck, tasting the tender flesh and nipping at the racing pulse. Bill moaned and squirmed beneath him. He clutched Tom's hair, attempting force his mouth lower. Tom latched his mouth to Bill's collar bone, sucking all along the ridge until he reached Bill's shoulder. There was a little mole right there that he enjoyed licking thoroughly before Bill began to complain in louder groans.

Tom worked his way lower, grazing his lips over Bill's left nipple and tracing the lines of ribs and the valley where his belly flattened out, taut and quivering. Bill gasped quietly and threw his legs open on either side of Tom's head as Tom neared his crotch. Hot breath cascaded over Bill's skin, making him shiver and his cock flex in front of Tom's gaze.

“Come on . . .” Bill groaned, pulling on Tom's hair to bring his mouth down.

Tom moistened his lips with a quick flick of his tongue and bent his head to Bill's red, throbbing cock. Bill groaned louder, thrusting his hips against Tom's face just as the head slipped past Tom's lips.

“Fuck yessss.” Bill hissed, gathering sheets in one hand until his knuckles blanched white, “Yes, Tom . . .”

Tom closed his eyes and focused on Bill's cock. He sucked it in and out of his mouth, relishing the flavor and texture, the velvety softness of the flesh, and the rigid hardness of engorged veins beneath. Each inch was pure pleasure against his tongue, and he paid special attention to every centimeter. He caressed and treasured it like his own. Bill rewarded him with low, pleasured groans, and spasms of need. His hips arched up against Tom's face, begging for more, begging to come. But just as Tom tasted the salty, sticky moisture of release at the back of his tongue, he pulled back. Bill was left panting and frowning, disappointed as his orgasm receded.

“Tom . . .” He pouted.

Bill reached for Tom's hair once more, but missed as Tom rose from the bed to find the condoms and lube.

“Roll over.” He said over his shoulder as he pulled the things from the drawer where he hid them.

Bill smirked and rolled onto his stomach. He spread his legs out and dug his knees into the mattress, causing his ass to rise in the air. He wagged it back and forth, quickly enticing Tom back to the bed.

Tom rushed up behind Bill, grabbing an ass cheek with one hand and flipping the lube open with the other. He poured out a generous amount down Bill's cleft, causing Bill to whine quietly. Tom licked his lips appreciatively as he swirled his fingers through the wetness now covering the tight, pink pucker. The flesh reacted with a squeeze, the sight of which sent a thrill of pleasure straight to Tom's core. He rubbed his fingertips harder against the tender flesh, barely penetrating the entrance. Bill groaned louder and thrust his hips back for emphasis. Tossing a defiant glare over his shoulder, he demanded with amber eyes, flickering with the sparks of need, for Tom to move faster.

Crowding in closer behind Bill, Tom dipped his index finger inside. Instantaneous pleasure sucked the air from his lungs and drew his loins painfully tight. Bill's hole was tender and velvety, radiating gushing heat, and thrumming with tides of pleasure. He squeezed rhythmically with every thrust of Tom's hand, drawing in another finger without protest.

“Ahhh . . .” Bill's low, fragile cry broke the silence.

Keeping his jaw clenched tight in concentration, Tom breathed hard through his nostrils. His breath washed hot over Bill's shoulder and spine as Tom leaned closer, consumed by Bill's perfect body. He ran his free hand down Bill's side, stroking the minimal curves and praising the softness of his skin. His fingers kept a firm, steady pace inside of Bill, massaging him open, stretching him at every angle until the muscles could only collapse and gape for Tom's cock.

“Please . . .” Bill moaned, lifting his head from the sheets.

His pale skin was flushed pink with arousal, and a fine sheen of perspiration glowed on his face. His dark eyes were wide, lashes beating rapidly, begging Tom in the most compelling way.

Tom withdrew his fingers and reached for the condoms. His fingers were trembling; a part of him still wondered how he was in possession of someone so perfect and wonderful.

Bill rolled onto his side and grabbed Tom's wrist, stopping him from reaching the condoms. Bill's gaze was determined as it was desperate, and Tom knew in an instant what he wanted.

“Bill-” Tom began, preparing to argue.

Before he could argue any further, Bill lithely spun up onto his knees and pushed Tom onto his back on the mattress. He straddled Tom's hips and took a firm hold of Tom's cock as he lowered himself over the straining member.

“Bill, are you sure-” Tom began, glancing anxiously at the discarded condoms.

Bill forced himself down on Tom's cock, taking the thick, throbbing rod with only the lube Tom had originally applied. Tom choked on his arguments, and felt his whole body seize up in pleasure. Bill's body was tighter than he had ever felt, and with the diminishing lube, the flesh was like a hot vice around his cock.

Bill groaned loudly in pleasure and threw his head back. He bore himself down on Tom's cock in a series of slow, hard thrusts that wrung strangled exclamations of pleasure from Tom's lips. He grasped at Bill's hips, tight enough to leave bruises, trying to pull Bill closer. Trying to tell him how good it was.

Bill braced his hands on Tom's chest and threw his head back in pleasure. Fragile whimpers drifted from his lips as he dragged himself over top Tom in a hypnotic pace. Tom gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of his flat stomach and slender chest straining in exertion, and the pale column of his neck, marked by blue veins and perspiration. His long, dark hair, swung against his shoulders and fell across one eye, like a smear of coal across a white canvas. He was a beautiful, glorious sight to behold. Tom felt frozen in time here, watching Bill ride him with such grace and allure.

The pleasure was a tight ball knotted in Tom's stomach, just waiting to explode. He held on tight to Bill's hips, grappling for the reins of his orgasm. He was moaning aloud, begging for it to last just as much as he was begging for Bill to give it to him. This moment was too perfect, so drowned in pleasure, to be over so quickly.

“Bill . . .” Tom groaned, reaching up to grasp Bill's cheek, “Baby, slow . . .”

Bill forced himself down hard on Tom's cock. Curling his fingers around Tom's wrist, he pulled Tom's fingers from his cheek. He panted softly for a few moments before murmuring, “I want it now.”

Tom caught into a few strands of Bill's hair and pulled his face closer.

“Let me fuck you.” Tom whispered, raggedly.

Bill licked his lips slowly, and ground his hips against Tom. Tom groaned as his cock shifted deeper inside of Bill. The muscles clenched around him, intentionally Tom was sure.

“From behind.” Bill replied, dragging his index finger across Tom's lips, “Like animals.”

“Any way you like.” Tom promised.

Smiling, Bill lifted himself off of Tom and turned around to face the headboard. Tom rose up onto his knees, light-headed for a moment before finding his balance behind Bill. Bill arched his hips up, presenting himself to Tom eagerly.

Grasping Bill's hips, Tom directed the oozing, red tip of his cock to Bill's flushed, pink entrance. He thrust back inside, hard. Bill's body fell forward with the force of the thrust, and he let his face collapse against the pillows. Glancing over his shoulder at Tom, he arched his ass higher, offering a deeper angle.

Tom plunged inside, and gasped loudly as his cock was swallowed up inside Bill's ass. The angle was steep, and Bill's body was eager and open wide for Tom's cock. With only a few more building thrusts, Tom had reached hard, driving pace, fucking Bill like an animal as the boy had requested. Bill cried out and grabbed at the sheets, holding himself steady as Tom hammered him from behind. His body curled up tighter and tighter with every pounding, attempting to escape the brutality while he inwardly ached for more.

“Yes, Tom!” He panted, eyes rolling back in his head, “Yes!”

Tom gripped Bill's hip in one hand and pinned Bill down with the other in the middle of his back. He pulled Bill's body down on his cock with every thrust, multiplying force and penetration to its peak. Bill bucked helplessly under the pressure, crying out for more, always more.

Finally, Tom couldn't take it any longer. Without warning, the orgasm rose up inside him. It seized him with just as much force as with which Tom was taking Bill, and threw him into a series of spasms that seemed to turn his world inside out. Everything faded to white noise except for Bill's moaning, and his own heart pounding out of control. The pleasure gushed endlessly inside him, as if he hadn't come in days. He could feel the abundant release fill Bill, and run back out and down his thighs in excess.

As the intense pleasure ebbed, Tom slowly pulled out and sank to the sheets next to Bill. Bill fell onto his side, still curled up. His face was red and sweaty, but his eyes were glowing with the light that told Tom he was happy. Tom glanced down his body to see that his cock was soft and slick with release.

Bill giggled as he glanced at the puddle of come had made on the sheets.

“I guess we should have put the condom on me.”

“It's okay.” Tom chuckled, “I'll just throw them in the wash.”

Bill pursed his lips to contain his grin. Reaching over, he touched Tom's cheek with delicate fingertips. His eyes grew serious.

“I've never come like that before.” He said, quietly.

“Like what?”

“Getting . . . um . . .” Bill laughed weakly, and blushed, “Fucked . . . Like free-hand.”

“Oh, uh, wow . . .” Tom sputtered, “That's . . . I guess that's a . . . compliment?”

“Yes.” Bill said, with a slow smile.

Leaning closer, he kissed Tom softly. They shared a few kisses back and forth before Bill rolled back against the sheets and sighed, “I guess I need a shower now.”

“Yeah, maybe not such a great idea after all.” Tom teased, poking Bill in the side.

“It was a great idea.” Bill replied, adamantly.

Sitting upright, he crossed his arms over his chest and flipped his hair over one shoulder. He smiled devilishly, “I like how it feels when you come inside me.”

Tom felt his cheeks grow hot. He ducked his head and tried to come up with a response.

“What?” Bill laughed, slapping Tom's arm lightly.

“It's just, uh . . . No one has said that to me in a long, long time.” Tom said, shaking his head. He offered a weak smile, “It's refreshing.”

Bill didn't reply for a few beats. His brow furrowed lightly and Tom could see that the wheels were turning . . . . Still trying to decipher the secrets Tom kept. If he knew the truth, maybe he would have preferred to remain ignorant.

“I'm gonna get a shower now.” Bill said, after several moments, “Change the sheets, and we can cuddle when I get back, okay?”

“Okay.” Tom agreed, forcing a smile onto his lips.

Bill got up and walked naked to the bathroom. Tom watched his bare, come-spattered ass swing all the way to the bathroom and considered beating off to the image just to keep his mind from going to the doubts he was trying so hard to bury.

 

~

 

Bill wasn't quite sure what woke him. He didn't even know how much time had passed, and for a moment, he couldn't even recall where he was. The faint scent of cologne and wildflowers brought him back to Tom's cabin before he even opened his eyes.

His eyelids cracked open slowly to see that they were still in Tom's bed. Their cuddling had lapsed into a nap, and now God knew what time it was.

The first thing he saw was Tom's arm. They were spooning, with Tom's body cradling Bill's. One arm was draped over Bill's waist, while the other rested under Bill's head, and stretched out across the mattress.

Bill was hardly awake, but he noticed the ink before he even noticed Tom's breath on the back of his neck and the dreamy hard-on nudging him in the back. Bill blinked harder and slowly lifted his head. He didn't want to believe what he was seeing, but the evidence was as hard as it could get. The ink was faded, as if Tom had attempted to wash it off, but Bill could clearly see that it was the ten digits of a phone number.

Bill sat very still. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, he was paralyzed. It was all coming together in his mind, like little puzzle pieces he had never been able to find before. Every time Tom hesitated, every time he wasn't where Bill expected, every time Tiffany showed up, and every time Bill questioned Tom's sexuality . . . It all compacted itself inside those ten little numbers.

Before Bill could tell himself not to panic, to think it through a little longer, to believe the best about the man lying next to him, he pulled himself out of Tom's embrace as quickly as he could. His mind was racing, scrambling to understand – to see the bigger picture. The only image his fragile, distrusting heart could manage was one of utter betrayal.

Bill's sudden movement jarred Tom awake. He lifted his head and opened bleary eyes just as Bill scrambled off the bed.

“Bill, what . . .?”

“What is that?” Bill demanded, his voice thin and shaking.

“What is what?” Tom asked, pushing himself upright.

“On your hand.” Bill said, pointing at the evidence written across the back of Tom's right hand, “That number!”

“Bill, no!” Tom launched himself off the bed, now fully awake, “No, it's not what you're thinking.”

“Then what is it? Because it looks like someone's phone number to me – and it's not mine!” Bill said, his voice rising with the tide of his anger.

“That girl, Tiffany.” Tom replied, anxiously, “She cornered me in the hall today! I didn't want to make a scene, so I-”

“You what, Tom?” Bill spat, “You just let her write her phone number on your hand?”

“I didn't know that's what it was going to be!” Tom cried, his eyes wide and panicky, “Bill, please. You have to believe me.”

“I am sick of this, Tom.” Bill replied, his voice low and quivering, “Why are you always having to explain yourself to me? Why can't you ever just give me a straight answer?”

“I am!” Tom exclaimed, throwing his hands up, “I am telling you the complete truth!”

“What about your marriage?” Bill asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “Every time I ask you about it, you clam up. What is it that's so bad?”

“What does that even have to do with this?” Tom demanded, pointing at the fading number on his hand.

“It has everything to do with it, Tom. It has to do with it, because you can't tell me the truth. Because somehow, you've been straight all your life, and then now, suddenly, you're fucking me!”

“Bill, we have been over this.” Tom said, shaking his head.

“Apparently not enough.” Bill argued, pointing a sharp finger in Tom's face, “Are you just fucking me because you want to experiment? You want to see what gay sex would be like? Or am I just the handiest, easiest person that came along because you haven't been laid in ten years?”

“No!” Tom shouted, taking a step toward Bill, “That is all lies, and you fucking know it!”

Bill took a step back, feeling a shiver go through his body. He wasn't afraid of Tom; just afraid of the truth.

“Then tell me the truth.” He replied, in a whisper, “Can't you do that? Just once?”

“If you're asking me to tell you everything about my marriage, the answer is no.” Tom said, darkly, “First of all, it's none of your business, and second of all, it doesn't have anything to do with Tiffany, no matter what you say.”

“So, you would rather keep your stupid little secrets than save our relationship?” Bill asked, trying to keep his voice steady. His throat quivered and went tight with tears that threatened to rush from his eyelids.

In this moment, he hated himself. But he knew he couldn't handle these lies and doubts any longer.

“Is that how it's going to be?” Tom asked, sounding hollow and empty. His eyes shone with tears that made the knife twist even harder in Bill's heart.

“I just want to know the truth.” Bill whispered, “Are you cheating on me? Are you using me? What are you doing, Tom?”

“No,” Tom replied, his voice choked with tears, “Nothing like that, Bill. Please, I love you. You know that.”

“Then prove it to me.”

“What do you want?” Tom asked, holding his hands out desperately, “I would do anything for you, Bill. What is it? Do you want to see my phone? I can show you I am not talking to this girl.”

“Okay.” Bill replied, quickly dashing an escaping tear from his eye.

Tom grabbed his phone from the nightstand and unlocked the screen. His fingers were trembling as he flipped through the phone. Bill watched anxiously, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew if Tom was willing to hand over his phone, his personal messages, that he had to be telling the truth. It was the lingering doubt about his marriage that made Bill cling to his anger.

Suddenly, Tom's face went white and his lips slid open. A cloud of horror passed across his face. His fingers blanched around the cellphone, so tight it appeared as if the phone might break.

“Oh god.”

“What is it?” Bill asked, taking a step closer.

Tom's gaze went empty, like a slate being wiped clean. It was the look of defeat, the look of a man who had nothing left.

Bill snatched the phone from Tom's grasp. Much to his surprise, Tom surrendered the phone without a fight.

Bill felt his stomach drop and bile rise in his throat as he gazed at the picture message displayed on the screen of Tom's phone. Bill recognized Tiffany immediately, though her face had barely made it into the frame along with her naked breasts.

First shock, and horror, and slowly, insane anger filled his mind. His chest grew so hot and tight, he thought he might burst like a volcano. He wanted to crush the phone under his foot, break every fragile object in this room, and then go find Tiffany and punch her face in.

Despite all he had been through, and all he had endured, he didn't think he had ever been so furious.

Throwing the phone on the ground, Bill grabbed his clothes from the bed and rushed out of the room. Tears burst down his cheeks like a monsoon as he stumbled down the hallway, attempting to get his clothes on while still escaping the cabin.

His last glimpse of Tom was of the other man sinking to the bed, his expression raw with pain and defeat. Bill knew he would never get that tormenting look of utter devastation out of his mind for as long as he lived.

 

 


	24. The Beginning of The End

Gripping the toilet seat, Tom stared into the water and tried to breathe. The bathroom was empty except for Tom and his churning stomach. His heavy inhales and exhales echoed against the tile, driving the sound of his panic back into his own ears. 

_No, no . . . Come on, get yourself together!_

The words repeated like a broken record through his mind, but hardly stayed the sickness curdling in his belly. His head pounded from too little sleep, too much thinking, too much berating himself for doing absolutely nothing – for simply letting Bill walk away last night. 

“Shit.” Tom muttered when he heard a soft knock on the bathroom door. 

“Tom, are you in there?” Natalie's voice drifted through the barrier, sounding concerned and motherly. 

Tom sank to the floor and gripped his head in his hands. He didn't want to talk to Natalie about his predicament, but he supposed he shouldn't have fled the lunch table, pale as a ghost, if he wanted to keep her in the dark. 

“Yes.” He replied. 

“Are you okay? You left the table looking sick.” 

“I'm okay.” Tom replied, though he doubted his tone was convincing. 

Natalie's interruption, though unwanted, had caused the sharp knife of panic to momentarily recede. He supposed he could get back to vomiting his entire stomach's contents later on. 

Pushing himself up from the floor, Tom slowly walked to the sink and turned the water on. He glanced at his worn expression in the mirror, wondering just when the lines around his eyes and mouth and grown so evident. With the dark circles from lack of sleep, he looked far older than his thirty years.

Tom splashed cold water on his face to wash away the perspiration. When he had dried his hands and face with a paper towel, he cautiously opened the bathroom door. Natalie stood in the hallway, arms folded tightly around her middle, and her face etched with worry. 

“God, Tom. You look like shit.” She whispered. 

“Thanks.” He replied dryly. 

“Can we talk?” She asked, reaching out to touch his arm warmly, “Please?” 

“Natalie, I don't really want to-” 

“Panic attacks? Running to the bathroom? Losing sleep?” She interrupted, blue eyes growing fierce, “Tom, these things were common occurrence when you first came here. After Charlotte-” 

“I don't want to talk about it!” Tom snapped, holding up a hand to stop her, “Can you please – just for once – not pry.” 

He turned to storm down the hallway, hands shuddering. He curled his agitated hands into fists, and willed himself not to say something worse. He loved Natalie because she had taken him in and accepted him when no one else would – but this was one thing she couldn't help him with. 

“Tom Kaulitz!” Natalie demanded, hurrying after him, “You know I am not prying! I'm just worried.” 

She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him around to face her. 

“It's about Bill isn't it?” She accused, her voice quiet but determined. 

Tom hesitated with answering a beat too long. He could see the realization dawn in Natalie's eyes, followed by a taste of anger. 

“What are you thinking?” She whispered, glancing up and down the quiet hallway. 

“I don't need you to judge me.” Tom replied, sharply, “You don't know the whole situation.” 

“Do you know what could happen if this comes out?” Natalie insisted, “His stepfather has money and connections. We could be ruined!” 

“I know all about his stepfather. Gordon? Yeah, he's the son of a bitch that's been beating Bill for the past four years, and not letting anyone raise a finger to stop it.” Tom growled, taking a step closer to glare straight into Natalie's eyes, “He's the one hurting Bill, not me. So don't make me look like the worst sinner here.” 

“I didn't say that.” Natalie replied, stiffly, “But you have to understand how this looks . . .” 

“It is what it is.” Tom said, spread his hands, “We're having sex, Natalie. What more do you want me to say?” 

Natalie's eyes widened and her cheeks colored in shock. For a moment, her lips moved wordlessly, and Tom took advantage of the lapse in discussion to turn his back. He was weary of hiding and fighting, weary of explaining himself. He didn't have anything to prove to Natalie, or anyone. Bill was all he had; and if it ruined him, so be it. 

“Tom!” Natalie hissed, following him once more, “Tom, wait!” 

“What?” He demanded, irritable. 

“I know you care about him a lot.” Natalie said, softly, “It's so valiant that you want to change his life. It's one reason I love you, Tom. You are the kindest man I know.” 

Tom bit his lower lip and glanced away. His eyes stung with tears that he didn't want to release. He could stand here and fight with Natalie all day without breaking down, but her gentle words had always had the power to break through his walls. 

“Tom, I don't want to see you get hurt because of that beautiful virtue.” Natalie continued, resting her hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Too late.” Tom murmured. 

Natalie's slender brows furrowed in confusion and worry. 

 

“Tom . . .” She whispered, inquisitively. 

“I have to go.” Tom said, shaking his head, “The Ranch tour starts in a few hours and I need to pack still.” 

“Tom, are you sure you want to lead the trip this week?” Natalie asked, “You know, I can do it.”

“I'd rather be out doing what I enjoy than staying home and worrying about everything.” Tom replied, “Thanks anyway.” 

Tom ducked into the next hallway before Natalie could pursue further conversation. 

When he passed through the mess hall, he could see that he had missed the rest of lunch. Most of the guests had deserted the hall and the cleaning staff was clearing the dishes away. As Tom passed the main dining table, he let his fingers glide over the top of the seat next to his own. Bill had been absent for lunch a third time. Tom could only guess where the boy was, bemoaning their fractured relationship. 

Tom knew he needed to find Bill and explain the situation now that the heat of the moment had passed. If he had to, he would apologize for wrongs he hadn't committed. His heart told to do whatever it took . . . But Tom hesitated. The lingering doubt, which had once drifted to the back of his mind to be masked by the glow of new love, was now attacking like a once dormant enemy. All logical thought argued to simply leave the relationship behind – not because he didn't love Bill anymore, but because it was impossible. 

In a week, they would be separated. Bill would return to his family in L.A. Tom would go back to throwing his all into the Ranch. It would be as if this bright, magical month had never happened . . . Perhaps they could call back and forth, email and text, but how long would such an arrangement last before Gordon, or the tides of time and the constant evolution of life ripped away the last seams of their connection? 

Bill was young. At only seventeen, he had his whole life ahead of him. He had college, a career, and the wild life of his early twenties to enjoy. Those days should be spent with boys and girls of his own age, the types that could keep up with his vibrant and defiant heart – not the sad, broken-down, old man that Tom would soon become. 

He deserved more. So much more. 

Tom's vision was blurred with tears as he burst out of the main house and into the blazing sunlight. The sun was hot on his cheeks, burning away the moisture but making his head throb harder. 

It struck him during this walk, all at once. He needed to leave Bill behind, for Bill's sake. Tom was a fighter and lover; he would do whatever it took to have those he loved with him and happy. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, accepting that what was best for Bill, what would make him happy, was giving the boy his life back. 

~

Bill smoked relentlessly as he sat on the front porch steps of Tom's cabin, waiting for the rancher to appear. After purposefully skipping lunch, he had come here, though he wasn't quite sure why. 

He hadn't slept a wink last night. With his mind turning and spinning, he had attempted to sort out all the details and see the truth. There was a lot of bullshit going around, that was for sure. But had Tom really cheated on him? He had seemed so adamant. 

Bill wanted to believe that after a long, heart-felt conversation with Tom, he could make all of it go away. He wanted to make all the problems and doubts disappear. Maybe if Tom just kissed him and touched him the way he had for the past week, it would all vanish . . .

With a sigh, Bill sucked the last of the nicotine out of the disintegrating stub of his second cigarette. Tossing the butt on the ground, he ruthlessly dug his heel into it until it turned to ash. That was what he wanted to do to Tiffany's face, and worse. The girl was a fucking liar and manipulator – she had to be. 

Bill looked up sharply when he noticed a figure moving closer in his peripheral vision.  
Squinting against the bright sunlight, he quickly recognized Tom striding across the grass to the cabin. 

They were both quiet, staring each other down, until Tom approached the porch steps. A frown was drawn on his brow, and his eyes were guarded. 

“Bill . . .” He said, quietly, “What are you doing here?” 

“I just wanted to talk to you.” Bill replied, rising from the porch steps, “Things got a little . . . tense last night.” 

Tom raised his eyebrows, “A little.” 

Bill pursed his lips and glanced down at his boots. Tom had his defenses up, and it made Bill feel awkward. Tom had never acted this way to Bill before. Bill had been sitting here, expecting Tom to come back and see him, to fall to the ground begging Bill to take him back. Now, he just seemed . . . distant. 

“So . . . Can we talk?” Bill asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I have to get ready for the camping trip.” Tom said. 

He mounted the steps and fished in his pocket for his keys, barely glancing at Bill the whole time. 

“Hey, look, I'm sorry.” Bill blurted out, reaching out to grab Tom's arm, “I shouldn't have flipped out.” 

“You had every right.” Tom replied, focusing on wiggling his key into the front door's lock. 

“So you don't have anything to say?” Bill asked, sharply. 

A shaft of fear lodged itself into his stomach. All of Bill's expectations about Tom's reaction to this conversation were completely opposite to how Tom was actually responding. It was almost as if he didn't care – though that couldn't be possible, because Tom had always been the one encouraging Bill to fight for what they had. 

“What do you think?” Tom asked, finally looking Bill in the eye, “I told you last night I didn't fuck her.” 

Bill licked his lips anxiously, “That's why I'm here . . .” 

“What more do you want, Bill?” Tom asked, with an impatient sigh, “I told you the truth. The rest is up to you.” 

“It's hard to believe, with the evidence on your phone, but I want to think you're innocent.” Bill replied, quietly. 

Tom shrugged, “Either you do, or you don't. Make up your damn mind.” 

“Why are you being like this?” Bill insisted, feeling a knot slowly begin to swell in his throat. 

“Like what? You're the one that accused me of being unfaithful when I've never done anything but love you and treat you with care and respect.” Tom replied, pointing an accusing finger at Bill's chest. 

“Oh, so that's it?” Bill asked, blinking back hot tears, “You're pissed at me for not believing you?”

Tom sighed and shook his head. His jaw worked restlessly, causing muscles in his cheek to clench. 

“Excuse me, but I was in shock from seeing a girl's naked boobs on your phone.” Bill added, stabbing his finger into Tom's chest. 

Tom slowly looked over at him. His normally soft, brown eyes were like flint, cold and emotionless. 

“Like I said, I have to get ready for the trip.” He said, quietly, “I'll see you later.” 

Twisting the door handle, he forcefully pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“I'm still coming.” Bill said, before the door could shut in his face.

“Coming where?” 

“On the camping trip.” Bill said, crossing his arms and cocking his hips to one side, “If that bitch Tiffany is going to be there, so am I.” 

“Okay.” Tom said, and this time, he just sounded weary. 

The door slid shut and Bill was left gazing at the weathered wood, with the first tears of a growing monsoon slipping down his cheeks. 

~

The rec room was largely deserted, since most of the guests were in their cabins packing for the camping trip. 

Nora and Dirk already had their bags assembled. Dirk was off of probation from camp activities, much to their joint relief. Things were going as planned so well, and this camping trip was going to be the cherry on top – the denouement. 

The tall, blond jock had a long arm around Nora's shoulders when Tiffany entered the rec hall. Tiffany's veins ran cold at the very sight of the couple sitting on a sofa in the corner. She had come here to meet up with some of her friends from her equestrian club before the camping trip started, but she supposed there was nowhere on this ranch she could go without encountering the boss's niece. 

Tiffany tugged her wool sweater tighter around her middle and headed toward her friends. She didn't want a confrontation with Nora and Dirk. In her mind, their business was over; in her heart, she knew she would never forget what she had done. 

“Hey, Tiffany.”

Tiffany felt her whole body stiffen when Nora called her name from across the room. She turned slowly and glared at the other girl, “What do you want, Nora?” 

“Just a moment of your time.” Nora smiled, sickly sweet, and approached Tiffany with her hands clasped in front of her. 

“What?” Tiffany demanded, once more. 

“Dirk and I just wanted to let you know . . .” Nora said, glancing over her shoulder as Dirk joined them, “That things went exceptionally well last night.” 

“I don't care.” Tiffany replied, trying to force the emotion of her face, “I was only in it for the coke.” 

“We just wanted to thank you, that's all.” Nora said, her smile widening, “We couldn't have done it without you.” 

“Oh, drop the act!” Tiffany snapped, feeling a surge of anger and courage rise up inside her, “You don't care about me! You just want to rub it in my face, because your stupid little plan worked, and I didn't want to go along with it.” 

“Tiffany, you went along with it really well.” Nora said, spreading her hands, “And if you ever want to help us again . . .” 

“No, I don't!” Tiffany snapped, taking a step closer to Nora, “You two can go fuck yourselves as far as I'm concerned. I don't want anymore drugs from you; I don't want anything from you!” 

Nora's sweet, smiling expression quickly disappeared into one of horror and disgust. 

“I could get you in so much trouble, you know that?” Nora replied, sourly. 

“Go ahead. I don't care anymore.” Tiffany replied, spreading her hands, “What else can you do, huh? Come on, Nora, come up with some evil plan to ruin my life! I don't give a shit! It's already ruined.” 

“Nora, come on.” Dirk said, quietly, putting a hand on Nora's shoulder, “This crack whore ain't worth it.” 

“And you!” Tiffany growled, pointing a menacing finger in Dirk's face, “You think you can shove people around because of your size? Because your parents have some fucking money? Guess what? Someday, someone is going to come along that's bigger and richer than you, and they are going to fuck you up for all the stupid things that come out of your mouth.” 

“Hey, back off!” Nora screeched, shoving Tiffany by the shoulders. 

Tiffany took a few stumbling steps backwards. But the burning anger in her chest was stronger than anything Nora could produce. It was like a dam had broken inside her, and all the angry, destructive thoughts, some that had nothing to do with Nora and Dirk, had come bursting out, ripping at her fragile seams, screaming to be released. 

She bounced back, hand arching through the air to slap Nora hard across the face. 

Nora shouted in pain and stumbled back, clutching her face. Her eyes were wide and glistening with pained tears; that look gave Tiffany the deepest satisfaction she had ever felt, drugs or no drugs. 

“Hey!” Dirk lunged at her, grabbing her by the arms, “Don't fucking touch my girl!”

“Hey, hey, what's going on?” 

They all looked up as one of the staff members, a young man with neatly combed hair and distressed blue eyes rushed into the room. 

“Take your hands off her!” The young man ordered. 

Dirk released Tiffany and stepped backwards, raising his hands in surrender.

“She came at my girl.” Dirk said with a shrug, “Sorry, man.” 

“Is that true?” The man asked Tiffany. 

Tiffany looked at the ground and nodded weakly. 

“Do I need to take this to Miss Franz?” 

“No!” Nora stepped in, waving her hands, “Of course not. We just got a little too protective of music choices . . . Fangirls, you know?” She chuckled, sweetly. 

The staff member frowned deeply and glanced back and forth between the two girls. Tiffany sighed as he finally nodded in understanding. Nora was the boss's niece – whatever she said was the gospel truth. Tiffany's voice would never be heard, even if they had to take a visit to Natalie's office. She supposed Nora would rather settle the score without involving her aunt. 

“Don't let it happen again.” The young man said, pointing a finger at all three of them, “Shouldn't all of you be heading out to the barn for the camping trip anyways?” 

“Yes, sir.” Nora said with a smile, “Dirk and I were just leaving.” 

“All right. Let me see it then.” 

Nora grabbed Dirk's hand and led them toward the exit. She cast one last venomous glare over her shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. 

Tiffany didn't deign to reply. She was weary of Nora's scare tactics and manipulation. The next time that bitch came at her, Tiffany wouldn't let it go so easily. And if she had a chance to reveal the web of lies and cruelty Nora and Dirk had weaved through Tom's and Bill's lives, she would pounce on that grenade and let it blow her to oblivion . . .


	25. Ruination

That evening, Bill hung back at the end of the line, keeping both Tom and Tiffany within his sights. Tom rode at the head of the line, directing the tour of the Ranch, while Tiffany rode several rows back with some of her friends. Bill eyed the girl like a hawk, expecting her to ride up next to Tom for another go at it any moment. But the girl kept her head down, and her hands wrapped almost too loosely about the reins. Her shoulders were slumped, and not a smile graced her lips.

Tiffany's quiet, brooding demeanor gave Bill a pause. The fact that Nora rode up next to her at one point, attempting to make conversation, and Tiffany seemed to blow her off made Bill even more suspicious. He recalled Tom's wild claim that Nora and Dirk were orchestrating all of this, and for a single moment, he felt stupid for brushing aside that possibility.

But was Nora really that conniving, and Dirk that vengeful?

Bill's head hurt, thinking about it. On one hand, he wanted to stay angry at Tom because the rancher still gave him reason to doubt. On the other, he just wanted Tom back because no one else had ever made him so happy.

At last, as the sun was going down, the caravan came to a stop in order to set up camp for the night. Despite having set up his tent two other times before, Bill struggled to make sense of the metal rods and ungainly, vinyl exterior.

Bill gave a frustrated sigh and clasped a hand over his forehead as he gazed down at the tangled mess of his tent. He'd be damned if he asked for help, but he didn't want to be sleeping outdoors tonight.

“Let me help you.”

He turned around, and was surprised to see Tom at his side. After the cold shoulder this afternoon, he hadn't expected any conversation, much less help with his tent.

“Thanks.” Bill muttered.

He stood back with folded arms and narrowed eyes while Tom swiftly connected the correct rods and snapped the exterior over the frame. He didn't speak as he worked, but Bill could sense Tom's thoughts urging them toward conversation.

Finally, Tom rose from the ground and dusted his hands off.

“There you go.” He said with an amiable smile.

Bill gritted his teeth for a moment as Tom walked past him. Their shoulders barely brushed, but Bill was struck with familiar electricity. His body sparked momentarily, still so needy for Tom's touch despite the recent conflict.

“Tom.” Bill burst out, spinning to face the retreating rancher.

“Yes?” Tom asked, slowly turning around.

Bill sighed and lifted his hands weakly. He didn't know what he wanted to say; he just didn't want to let go.

Tom bit at his lower lip and glanced down at the grass.

“You didn't have to come, you know.” He said, quietly.

“I think I did.” Bill replied.

“I'm not sleeping with that girl.” Tom added, casting dark, somber eyes at Bill.

Bill swallowed hard, “I know.”

Tom nodded, slowly, “Good.”

“That's not what I'm confused about.” Bill continued, “I'm confused about why you can't trust me. I told you about Gordon, and I told you about Anis. Why can't you tell me what happened with your wife?”

“Because.” Tom snapped, a blossom of red suddenly staining his cheeks, “You would never look at me the same again.”

“Tom, I felt the same way.” Bill pleaded, taking a step closer, “I thought you wouldn't feel the same about me, if you knew about Anis. But I was wrong.”

“You were wrong.” Tom said, his eyes softening, “But I'm not.”

“How do you know if you won't tell me?” Bill insisted.

His eyes grew hot with moisture, but he didn't lift a hand to suppress the emotion. He wanted Tom to see how much he was hurting him.

“You were a victim, Bill.” Tom said with a sigh, “An innocent, naïve child. No one can judge you for what happened with Anis. The situation with my wife . . .” Tom paused for a second, his eyes growing cloudy, “My child . . . is not the same.”

Silence ensued between them. All Bill could hear and feel was the pounding of his heart, and the emotion threatening to burst from the seams. He wanted so badly for Tom to rely on him, to trust him, but he could see the pain written so clearly in Tom's eyes. He could remember the days when the thought of confessing his ordeal with Anis made him sick inside – sicker than the acts committed upon his youthful, unwilling body. Tom wasn't ready to share what had happened to him – or what he had done. And as one who had suffered in silence himself, Bill didn't have the right to blame him.

“I have to go.” Tom said, quietly.

Bill didn't have to the strength to protest as Tom turned and strode across the camp, his shoulders tight and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

At dinner, Bill sat as far away from the rest of the group as he could manage without being obvious. He shoveled his food down as fast as he could, trying to hold the emotion back with his dinner being crammed down his tightening throat. All he could think about was last week, and how he and Tom had sneaked off early to have that amazing tryst in Tom's tent. Life had seemed so perfect and carefree – as if nothing could touch their union.

He retired to his tent early once more, not having the patience for sing-alongs and ghost stories. Curling up in his sleeping bag, he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the memories so that he just might be able to catch a wink of sleep tonight.

 

~

 

Day 20

 

The main house was empty and quiet. If one looked out across the ranch, hardly a lighted cabin window could be seen.

Natalie always felt so alone when all of the guests and Tom left for the weekend.

She sequestered herself in her office that Saturday night, poring over financial reports and rosters of new guests for the following weeks. Despite the even flow of residents on the Ranch, she still worried over the costs. After the downturn of the economy in 2009, the Ranch hadn't fared quite as well as before. She hated to see her life's work and pride struggle, but she had no control over it.

A soft knock on the door alerted her to the presence of one of the young ladies that was on the cleaning staff.

“Come in.” Natalie said with a weary smile.

Drew ducked into the room and offered Natalie a smile in return, “Are you gonna go get some sleep, Ms. Franz?”

“Oh, what time is it?” Natalie asked.

“Almost ten. I mean, it's your office. You can stay as long as you want, but it might have to wait until tomorrow to get cleaned.” Drew replied.

“I was just finishing some things up . . .” Natalie said, running her hand over the myriad of papers spread out across the desk.

To be honest, she didn't know what she was doing.

“Okay, I'll leave you to it.” Drew said, backing away.

“Don't you think . . .” Natalie began, before the young lady could leave.

“What?”

“Don't you think, you should always listen to your gut?”

Drew frowned slightly, but nodded in agreement, “Yes, ma'am. Most definitely.”

Natalie pursed her lips and rubbed a hand over her face.

“Is there something worrying you?” Drew asked, sympathetically.

“It's Tom.” Natalie replied, and shrugged weakly, “Don't tell him I said any of this – but I'm worried about him.”

“Oh.” Drew said.

As a part of the cleaning staff, she probably didn't expect the boss to open up to her.

“I'm just anxious for them to get back from the camping trip.” Natalie said.

“They'll be back tomorrow morning, right?” Drew asked.

“Yeah.” Natalie shook her head, “I'm probably just being silly, right? They'll be back tomorrow, and everything will be fine.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he's okay.” Drew said, smiling in encouragement.

Natalie glanced down at the papers, suddenly having no patience for them any longer. She began to gather them up in a neat stack.

“I'll let you do your job.” She said, forcing a smile onto her lips.

“Okay, I'll be back with my supplies.” Drew replied.

As she slipped out of the room, the phone on Natalie's desk began to ring. Natalie sighed wearily. Frowning, she wondered who would be calling the Ranch so late.

Natalie drew in a deep breath and grabbed the phone.

“Miranda Gulch Ranch. Ms. Franz speaking.”

“Hello, Ms. Franz. This is Gordon Trumper.”

Natalie felt her whole body grow stiff and his heart drop. Her mind immediately began to race, wondering how Bill's stepfather had found out about the affair with Tom. Why else would Gordon be calling?

“Hello, Mr. Trumper.” Natalie replied after several beats.

“You're probably wondering why I'm calling.” Gordon said, and she could almost hear the smug tone in his voice.

“Yes. How can I help you?” She replied, trying to remain diplomatic with the anxiety choking her like a noose.

“I've been keeping an eye on Bill from a distance during his weeks there at your ranch.” Gordon replied, “Video calls with his mom and such. You understand, with a kid like Bill, you can't leave him to himself.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I came to find out that he had grown rather close with your vice president, Mr. Kaulitz.”

Natalie closed her eyes and slowly sank to her chair. Her knees felt weak, imaging all the damage Gordon intended to do in retaliation to Bill and Tom's scandalous affair.

“Mr. Kaulitz is fond of your step son.” Natalie replied, “He enjoys helping out the under dog.”

“That sounds great.” Gordon said, “But I don't trust people. I'm a business man, you understand? I got my business where it's at today because I don't trust anyone.”

“Did you call here to accuse Tom of something?” Natalie questioned, wishing Gordon would cut to the chase.

“Short story, Ms. Franz, I think your vice president is screwing my kid.”

Natalie felt all the breath depart from her lungs. Holding a hand over her face, she tried to work up a reply, but nothing came to mind.

“But worse than that, I think he's a fucking criminal that should be in jail at this moment.” Gordon continued, “I had my man Peter do some research into Mr. Kaulitz, and it turns out, he didn't exist until six years ago.”

“Mr. Trumper,” Natalie cut in, at last finding her voice, “I am well aware of Tom's past. And I can promise you that he is completely innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“I would happen to disagree.” Gordon said, “And let me tell you, the court isn't going to look on his raping a young, innocent kid too well with his past history. I'm just calling to warn you that I am ready to come down on this man, and anyone who gets in my way.”

“Mr. Trumper, please-” Natalie began, desperately.

“That's all I have to say.” Gordon cut in, “And just that I'm flying out there tomorrow morning to see the arrest in person.”

 

~

 

Bill's ass was sore from the saddle, and he was weary of staring at the back of Tom's head all day and wondering what the hell was going on up there.

He managed to snag Randy's attention and persuade the other rancher to set up the tent for him. He wanted privacy to discuss the situation with Tom, and a repeat of yesterday's tent construction wasn't exactly secluded.

Conversation over dinner was lively, except for Tom and Bill. They sat opposite each other around the camp fire. Bill eyed the other man through the flames, wishing Tom would at least look at him. His anger was quickly diminishing, replaced by the burning urgency to get Tom back. He knew Tom wasn't fucking Tiffany, and Tom was the only person who had ever made Bill happy in the past four years. He needed Tom's love; he realized that now.

“So, I think the Miranda Gulch Ranch is pretty special.” Randy spoke up, “Wouldn't you agree, Tom?”

Tom grunted and nodded his agreement.

“When I came here, I had just been divorced and was looking for a place to hide and lick my wounds.” Randy said, with a wry smile, “And I didn't realize until about last year, just how much this Ranch has helped me.”

A ripple of smiles and agreements circulated around the group.

“Anyone else feel like something special has happened here?” Randy questioned.

Bill lowered his head and concentrated on the lap of his dark wash jeans. Fresh tears rose up quickly in his throat, and he lifted a hand to cover his eyes.

Something special. Yeah, something special had happened – right before it had been ripped away from him.

“I do.”

Bill looked when he heard Nora's voice.

“Yes, Nora?” Randy said.

“I've been coming here for years.” Nora said, smiling, “But it wasn't until last week that I met Dirk.”

She glanced over at the blond seated next to her and patted his knee. Dirk smiled back. He reached over and catch Nora's hand in his.

Bill felt his stomach turn, and a tide of anger rise in his chest. Anyone else would be smiling at the Ken and Barbie style couple, thinking how perfect they were together. But Bill knew; he knew the truth about Dirk, and maybe Nora too. How did they deserve to be happy together when Bill had worked so hard to find just an ounce of peace and satisfaction? How did those rich, spoiled, mean kids get a chance at a real relationship when the love of Bill's life was slipping rapidly from his fingertips?

Someone else raised their hand to speak, but Bill couldn't listen anymore. Setting his empty dinner plate aside, he jumped up and left the circle at a fast clip. His chest quivered with suppressed tears and his hands with burgeoning anger. He could feel it coming back – that beast, that rage that Tom's love and gentle touch had soothed to nearly nothing. He didn't want to be that distrustful, permanently angry person again – but he couldn't stop the rage that boiled just beneath the surface.

Bill spun around, ready to strike, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was shocked to see Tom hurrying after him.

“What do you want?” Bill snapped, swiping tears from his cheeks.

“I just wanted to apologize.” Tom said, quietly, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yeah, but you already have.” Bill replied, resentfully.

“I'm sorry. I can't explain myself to you.” Tom said, his eyes shimmering in the distant, golden light of the bonfire.

“So what are you hoping to accomplish here?” Bill questioned, waving a hand between them, “I don't want to hear anymore apologies and explanations, Tom. I just want you – all of you.”

Tom's brow furrowed and his jaw clenched tightly. Bill could see emotion swimming in his dark brown eyes, on the tipping point of determination and sorrow.

“What?” Bill asked, his voice low and hollow.

He could feel it coming, and it was like a knife through his heart.

Tom scraped a hand through his hair, and shook his head slowly.

“What?” Bill insisted, louder this time.

“We can't do this, Bill.” Tom said, at last, “We _can't._ ”

“What do you mean?” Bill whispered, feeling his blood run cold.

“It's over.” Tom whispered, “You'll be leaving next week, and I will never see you again. Maybe we can text, or write letters; maybe for a little while. But what about Gordon, Bill? He already doesn't trust me, and he's not good to you. If he finds out about us . . . God, I couldn't risk him hurting you or worse.”

“What are you saying?” Bill whispered, his voice mutilated with fresh emotion, “Are you saying that . . . that . . . Are you breaking up with me?”

Tom squeezed his eyes shut, causing a single tear to break free of his lashes.

“Yes.”

Bill felt his heart slow, as if a cold, harsh fist had wrapped itself around the vital organ and demanded it end it's romantic, hopeful fluttering. It was over. Tom – not Gordon, not Peter, not anyone else – was saying it was over. That _they_ were over.

“No.” Bill whispered, his voice quivering, “No, you can't . . .”

“It will never work, Bill.” Tom insisted, his voice growing harsh, “Don't you get it? We were fooling ourselves all along to think we could somehow be together. There's just too many things working to stop-”

“You said you would make it work!” Bill cried, ignoring the fact that there were so many other people around them, perhaps even witnessing the argument, “You promised me!”

“I was wrong.” Tom replied in a choked whisper, “I'm sorry, Bill. I was wrong.”

“No, you can't do this.” Bill whispered, his breath quickening.

He could feel his chest begin to convulse, a mixture of deep, wrenching tears and sharp panic. He took a stumbling step backward; the ground felt uneven to his disoriented footsteps. The foundation may as well have been crumbling beneath him, his world burning down to ash.

He knew this was it. He couldn't take one more devastation, one more blow to his heart.

“I have to do this.” Tom replied, quietly, “And believe me when I say this is the hardest thing I have ever done, but I know it's the only logical conclusion. If we stay in this, Bill, we might make it worse. There's just too many things working against us.”

“Love isn't about logic, Tom.” Bill cried, stabbing a finger at Tom's chest, “And you said you would do anything it took! That's what we agreed. That we would do it together!”

“What am I supposed to tell you, Bill?” Tom threw up his hands, “That I will leave my home and my job here and move all the way to L.A.? That we can sneak around behind your parents' backs for another year, until you turn eighteen?”

“Maybe.” Bill said, coldly, “Then again – maybe not.”

He began to walk past Tom, purposefully slamming their shoulders together as they passed. Tom spun around, loosely grasping Bill's arm.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here.” Bill spat, “I need to think.”

“You can't go out there by yourself.” Tom insisted.

“Let me the fuck go.” Bill growled, twisting his arm out of Tom's grip, “Or I promise you, I will tell everyone in this camp right now how you've been trying to get in my pants.”

Tom's hand slipped away from Bill's arms. His eyes were sad and hurt, and it sent a shaft of inexplicable pain through Bill's chest. But he couldn't stay here any longer; he had to get away, he had to run.

Bill turned his back on Tom and rushed out of the camp, hiding his tear-streaked face with one upraised hand. He ignored a few stares, and the warning bells in his head. He just ran.

 

 

 


	26. Denouement

Nora was in her tent, attempting to find the right corner where she could receive enough reception to check Facebook, when Dirk unzipped the front of her tent. He stuck his head in, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I just saw Trumper run off. I think he and his boyfriend were having fight.”

Nora rolled her eyes, “Why do I care?”

“Because, this is our perfect chance.” Dirk replied, kneeling down inside the tent, “Remember?”

“Right now?” Nora squinted at him, “I mean, it's dark, and . . .”

“What are you afraid of the Boogeyman or something?” Dirk teased, giving her ankle a squeeze.

“No.” Nora replied, scowling.

“Come on, then.” Dirk replied, canting his head toward the outdoors.

Nora pursed her lips, thinking about Dirk's suggestion. They had agreed to teach that little shit a lesson. She couldn't back out of it the perfect chance since the whole thing had been her idea. She just didn't want to get herself in trouble in the process.

“Come on. I know you're pampered, but you have to live a little.” Dirk added.

“Fine.” Nora said, putting her phone down, “Let's go.”

The two teens crept out of the tent and made their way down the row of tents until they reached the one some of Dirk's friends were sleeping in. Danny and Brent were already in on the plan, and didn't take much persuading.

They left the camp as quietly as possible, heading in the direction Dirk had seen Bill run. Nora wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. She lagged behind the three boys, her mind turning.

She wasn't used to solving her own problems after delivering threats – usually the threats were good enough. Her dad had enough money and influence to teach anyone who bothered Nora a lesson. Bill was too personal for her to talk to her father about, and besides, he was all the way in France right now. Maybe if Dirk hadn't intervened, she would have given up her pursuit of revenge against Bill; maybe she just would have taken the easy route and told Aunt Natalie. Plotting and planning against a stupid boy who didn't know what he could have when he saw it, had been fun. Now, she was left with sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt like something bad was going to happen; like they were all going to get caught.

Brent, who had brought a flashlight along, led the way. Danny was next to him, whispering and laughing like this was some big party. Nora quickened her steps so that she was abreast to Dirk.

“What are we going to do?” She whispered.

Dirk shrugged, “Nothing I haven't already done to him.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm just going to scare him a little.” Dirk laughed, “Come on, Nora. We're not breaking the law.”

Nora frowned and held her sweater tighter around herself, “Dirk . . .”

“What?” He asked, frowning down at her, “Don't tell me you're feeling bad now. Not after what you did to Tiffany.”

“I didn't do anything to Tiffany.” Nora replied, defensively, “She wanted drugs, we gave them to her. I didn't actually hurt her.”

“I'm not really gonna hurt Bill, Nora.” Dirk said, rolling his eyes, “It's dark out, in the middle of the woods. All we're gonna do is scare him a little.”

Nora turned her gaze straight ahead and didn't reply. The wind whistled quietly through the trees, and night creatures buzzed and chirped in the inky darkness. She couldn't see where they were going, except for the narrow beam of light from Brent's flashlight. She reached out to grab onto Dirk's hand as a shiver went through her body. Oh yes, it was dark, and the middle of the woods – she didn't need anyone to scare her.

Suddenly, Brent came to a halt. He flicked off his flashlight, plunging them all into darkness. Nora stepped closer to Dirk and grabbed onto his arm with both hands.

“You hear that?” Brent whispered.

All four teens went utterly silent, ears straining. After tuning out the insects buzzing nearby, Nora could make out the distinct sound of someone sniffling and crying.

“Jackpot.” Dirk whispered, “Let's go.”

Brent turned the flashlight back on, but held his hand over most of the light, giving them just enough illumination to see the ground under their feet. Dirk rushed forward, dragging Nora along behind him.

She was just working up the courage to ask Dirk if they could turn back, when they came upon a narrow, dirt path, adjacent to a large, ancient tree. Bill sat at the foot of that tree, knees drawn to his chest and hands over his face. Little boy lost, and now prey to three bigger, malicious teens.

“Hey, Trumper.” Dirk said, swaggering forward.

Bill's head popped up in a shock and he scrambled to his feet, “Dirk, what the hell are you doing out here?”

Brent swung the flashlight up, shining Bill directly in the face. Bill squinted against the light and lifted a hand to cover his eyes. His skin was pale and tear-stained in the white light of the flashlight; he looked like a heart-broken ghost.

“Following you.” Dirk replied, smirking, “Have a fight with your boyfriend?”

“He's not my boyfriend.” Bill replied, “And why are you following me? You want to get in even more trouble with Ms. Franz?”

“I don't give a fuck about that lady.” Dirk replied, circling closer, now flanked by Danny, “She won't know a damn thing.”

“What are you talking about?” Bill asked, his voice acquiring a slight quiver.

“I'm talking about you.” Dirk said, his voice steely. Stabbing a finger in Bill's face, he added more quietly, “You, Trumper, being a pain in my ass for the last two years.”

“What are you thinking of doing, Dirk?” Bill replied, lifting his chin, “Beating me up? Gordon will have you in jail so fast, it'll make your fucking head spin.”

Nora watched the confrontation from a distance, holding her breath until her lungs ached. Her palms were sweaty and cold, and her stomach turned. She wanted to turn and bolt in the other direction because she had such a bad feeling about this, but the same fear kept her feet nailed to the ground.

Suddenly, Dirk grabbed Bill by the face and shoved him up against the tree. Nora gasped quietly, holding her hands over her mouth. Bill's head knocked against the tree trunk, causing an expression of pain to twist his features. Grasping at Dirk's wrist, he squirmed helplessly against the tree.

“Let go . . .” Bill choked out.

“I don't think so.” Dirk chuckled, “I've finally got you where I want you, Trumper.”

Nora's cry stuck in her throat as watched, as if in slow motion, Dirk's fist pull back to his shoulder, and thrust forward toward Bill's face. Dirk's knuckles slammed straight into Bill's jaw, driving Bill's face to the side and eliciting a sharp wail from the smaller boy's lips.

Dirk yanked Bill away from the tree and flung him like a rag doll toward Danny. Laughing in delight, Danny caught Bill's body and threw him to the ground. Landing hard on his shoulder and hip, Bill yelled in pain.

“Stop!” Bill screamed, lifting a weak hand to defend himself.

Just as the cry burst from his lips, Danny lunged forward, planting the toe of his boot solidly into Bill's stomach. Bill doubled over, coughing and wheezing.

Nora stood frozen just a yard away, her hand at her lips. She couldn't move; her limbs were paralyzed by shock and horror. She had planned on teaching Bill a lesson for rejecting her, but this – this beating had never been in the works. She had never wanted this . . .

Danny kicked Bill again, but somehow, the slender boy managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl away from the assault.

“Where do you think you're going, Trumper?” Dirk said.

He grabbed Bill by the ankle and yanked him back to the middle of the path. Bill landed on his face in the dirt, both arms flailing to gain purchase. He squirmed and fought fiercely as Dirk flipped him onto his back. Straddling Bill's waist, Dirk drew his arm back to punch Bill again.

Brent and Danny were urging Dirk on as Dirk began to hit Bill over and over again. Nora couldn't see Bill's face with Dirk bent over him, but she could hear the cries of pain and the sickening thud of flesh meeting flesh.

Finally, Nora broke away from her position. Her limbs felt weak and trembling with shock, but she threw all of her weight into Dirk. She pulled the muscular teen off balance and tumbled them both to the dirt and grass next to Bill's limp body.

“Stop, Dirk!” She cried.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dirk demanded, pushing her off of him. He jumped to his feet, eyes ablaze with anger, “If you don't like it, you can leave!”

Nora hesitated at his feet, tears welling in her eyes. Falling to the ground hadn't hurt, but Dirk's tone of voice did. Maybe she had thought he cared . . . Maybe she had thought they had a chance.

“Go ahead, Nora! Go tell daddy like the spoiled little brat you are.” Dirk snapped.

Nora struggled to her feet, sniffing back tears, “I am not.”

“Then get the fuck out of the way.” Dirk replied.

He turned back to Bill, who lay on the ground, bleeding from both his mouth and nose. He groaned quietly and attempted to move, but was too injured to get very far.

Nora took a stumbling step backwards. Her vision blurred with tears, but she could still make out the image of Dirk kneeling down and removing Bill's pants.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“You think you like getting fucked in the ass?” Dirk said, glancing down at Bill.

“Dude.” Brent whispered, “Dirk?”

“Don't look at me like that.” Dirk chuckled, “I'm not gonna fuck this kid.”

“Then what?”

“We're in the woods, dumbass. Find me a dildo.”

“Oh, man.” Danny said, shaking his head, “Dude, you are sick.”

Brent disappeared back into the woods with the flashlight, leaving them in darkness. Bill groaned quietly, lifting his head from the ground. Dirk wrapped his fingers around Bill's neck and pinned him down.

“You're gonna pay, you little shit.” He whispered, “You thought you were really clever with that video last year, but that little trick is going to pale in comparison to what I'm gonna do to you.”

Brent returned momentarily, carrying a branch a few inches around.

“Does this look right?” He asked, tossing the stick to Dirk.

Dirk caught the stick in mid air, and twirled it around in his hand. He weighed in his grasp for a few moments, checking the size, before giving a nod.

“Yeah, this will work.”

Dirk grabbed Bill by the arm and pushed him onto the stomach. Bill lifted his eyes, eyelids fluttering open for a moment. He was pale, and marked with blood, barely conscious.

The sight of the blood, and the knowledge of what Dirk intended to do made Nora feel nauseous. Her stomach turned relentlessly, so much so that she thought she might throw up. In a daze, Nora backed up slowly, all logic telling her to flee.

“Dirk.” She whispered, curling her sweaty hands into fists, “Dirk!”

“What?” Dirk demanded, turning an irritated glance in her direction.

“Maybe this is going to far.” She said, licking her lips anxiously, “I mean, isn't that good enough? Look, he's bleeding.”

“No, it's not good enough.” Dirk said, condescendingly, “I'm gonna show this faggot what getting fucked really means.”

“No.” Nora said, shaking her head, “We should really stop.”

“You mean, you should stop.” Dirk sneered, “Because you're finally having a conscience. Please, Nora, you never cared before. You can go if you want. Go ahead, run off and tell your aunt. Tell your daddy. My parents are just as rich as yours. They can get me out of anything.”

Nora wavered anxiously on the edge of indecision, too scared to run, too scared to stay.

When she didn't reply, Dirk turned back to where he held Bill to the ground and picked up the stick. He was handing out instructions for Brent and Danny to hold Bill down so he could use that awful, improvised dildo.

Nora felt her stomach revolt, watching Dirk wield that stick. She spun around, throwing up a mouthful of her dinner into the leaves and dirk. Her head pounded, and her whole body was awash with sick, cold shivers. Bill's frail, agonized cry split the air like a gunshot, and she broke into a run.

It was pitch black in the woods with the trees blocking out the moonlight. Running at full speed, her feet hit uneven ground that she couldn't see, and she stumbled several times. Branches slapped at her face and arms, and bristles caught at her hair. Ignoring every obstacle, she kept running, hoping that if she ran long enough, she could escape the sound of Bill's crying.

 

~

 

Tom stared into the dying flames of the bonfire, reckoning it was a pretty accurate picture of his life at the moment. Everything burning down, turning to nothing but ash and dying embers.

He was worried sick about Bill, but Bill's threat to expose Tom kept him pinned to his seat. He liked to think that he knew Bill well, and that Bill would never do such a thing – but the cold truth was, he had only known Bill for two weeks, and the likelihood of knowing the real Bill was slim. For all he knew, Bill would go to Natalie with the truth the moment they returned home, just out of spite.

All he could hope for was that Bill would return to the camp after he had calmed down.

“Mr. Kaulitz?”

Tom's head shot up when he heard a voice he had begun to dread. He rose to his feet, taking up a defensive posture as Tiffany approached.

“What do you need, Tiffany?” He asked.

A frown grew on his brow and a hint of dread touched his mind when he saw how pale and anxious Tiffany appeared.

“I think there's something you should know.” She whispered.

“What is it?”

“I saw something.” She said, licking her lips, “Dirk and Nora, and some other guys . . .”

“What about them?” Tom asked, anxiously.

“I saw them follow Bill into the woods.” Tiffany said.

“What?” Tom demanded, his heart taking a nosedive.

“I don't know what they are going to do,” Tiffany whispered, “but I know they don't like Bill . . . And I thought you should know.”

“Shit.” Tom whispered, “No . . .”

He broke away from the fire pit and dashed to his tent. He rummaged desperately through his bag until he laid his hands on a flashlight. His heart was pounding wildly, his head spinning with the possibilities. He had been the one to pull Dirk off of Bill once before; he knew Dirk was capable of attacking the boy . . . And according to Tiffany, he had friends with him. The worst case scenario immediately filled his head – images of Bill beaten, bleeding, broken.

Tom snatched the flashlight and headed for the outer circle of the camp, in the direction he remembered Bill going. He wasn't thinking about their fight; he wasn't thinking about their affair being discovered. All he was thinking about was Bill's safety, the one thing he had always done his best to look out for . . . Now it seemed, he had failed.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked as Tiffany fell in step next to him.

“Coming with you.” She replied, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

“Why?”

“Personal reasons.” She replied, arching an eyebrow at him, “Quite like you, I'm sure.”

Tom didn't reply. He just broke into a jog as they reached the edge of the woods.

He flicked on the flashlight and led them into the woods. Pointing the flashlight at the ground, he tried to see if he could notice any footprints or any sort of clue that would lead him to Bill. All of the fallen leaves, needles, and dirt looked the same to him, a fact which made him panic further.

_I have to find Bill._

The thought pounded through his mind over and over again, battering his worried brain with terror. No matter which way he tried to work the scenario in his mind, it always ended with Bill being injured in some way. Dirk was was a malicious bully, and Nora a scheming, jilted whore. Both of them had something against Bill; both of them were willing to go the extra mile to hurt someone who they perceived had wronged them.

Tom's spinning thoughts urged him to walk faster. At first, he began to jog, sweeping the forest in front of him with the flashlight, before breaking into a run. He knew Bill probably wouldn't have gone far before becoming scared of getting lost, or becoming winded from the physical toll. He had to find Bill soon; he just had to.

He came to a halt, causing Tiffany to run into his back, when he saw movement up ahead. Tom's eyes widened, as a slim figure, with blond hair flowing behind her like an unfurled flag, came barreling past them. The young lady barely stopped to notice them, but Tom caught one small glimpse of her face. Wide, scared, blue eyes, and pale cheeks were rare for the pampered niece of the boss, but Tom easily recognized the fleeing girl to be Nora.

“Holy shit.” Tiffany whispered. She nudged Tom in the back, “Let's go.”

They both broke into a run once more, following the direction from which Nora had run. Tom's straining ears picked up the sound of someone wailing. It was a fragile, empty howl of pain, almost like a wounded animal screaming for the hurt to stop.

“Bill!” Tom cried.

Panic, horror, fear, and anger all collided inside of him at once, sparking a fresh surge of adrenaline. Tom bolted into a faster pace, boots pounding across the uneven forest floor. He couldn't run fast enough to find Bill, to save him, to end whoever was hurting him. His body was reacting automatically now, beyond his control. He had every intention of beating the people who were hurting Bill to a pulp. He didn't care how many there were; he would take them all on to protect his Bill.

The tears on his cheeks were only for sorrow and regret; repentance for telling Bill it was over and driving him away. In a way, Tom knew this horrible moment was all his fault.

Tom's flashlight illuminated the figures of three teenage boys just yards ahead. They all stopped what they were doing and looked up to see Tom and Tiffany closing in on them.

“Shit!” One of them yelled, “Let's go.”

The three boys turned and ran into the opposite direction, disappearing into the thick undergrowth of the forest. The bare illumination of one of their flashlights glowed like a beacon for several yards before they ran too far for Tom to see anything. Tom's chest nearly burst with anger, watching the assailants slip from his grasp. He wanted all three of them under his fist, faces smashed to blood and bone.

Tom burst past the treeline, into a small patch of grass and dirt where no trees grew. It was a small path of sorts, where riders took their horses at times. All it held now was the limp, bloody and bruised, half-dressed body of the boy Tom had come to love so dearly.

“No.” Tom groaned, dropping to the ground next to Bill.

The boy was barely conscious, but his chest rose with shallow, pained breaths. His face was bleeding, bruised, and swollen. He was naked from the waist down, inner thighs stained with blood. A stick lay discarded nearby, the end stained dark red.

“No, no.” Tom cried, gathering Bill into his arms.

Deep, wrenching sobs tore themselves from within his chest, stealing away breath and every sane thought. The tears came quick and hot, so thick he could hardly see.

He was back there again, holding Charlotte in his arms. Her blood on his fingertips. Her skin cold to his touch. Her life slipping away . . .

Tom threw his head back and screamed his pain and agony at the sky until his throat ached.

It couldn't be happening again; it couldn't.

“Tom?”

Tom looked up slowly, suddenly feeling weak and numb. The tears dried on his cheeks, and his fingers loosened from around Bill's ragged body.

Randy stood at the edge of the clearing holding a flashlight. Nora lingered next to him, her eyes wide and her face pale.

“Nora said something was happening in the woods.” Randy whispered, taking a step closer. His eyes darted over the horrific scene before him, narrowing to a grimace when he noticed Bill's abused state.

Tom sniffed quietly, but didn't respond. His head was dizzy and throbbing. His ears rang with a distant, but knife sharp bell. He couldn't feel anything except the dull thud of his heart.

“God, Tom . . .” Randy whispered taking a faltering step closer, “What did you do?”

 

 


	27. Retrograde

Day 21

 

The night passed in a blur of pain, fear, flashing lights, and police uniforms.

Because the wifi on the Ranch didn't reach out as far as the camping expedition, Randy had to ride his horse back to the main house where he telephoned the authorities and requested an ambulance. Tom stayed by Bill's side, trying to wipe the blood away, trying to revive the boy. Bill was in and out, but his moments of waking were fixed with pain and weak attempts to fight off an unseen enemy.

Tom felt like he was in a daze. All the questions Randy asked him passed his ears unheard. Tiffany's and Nora's gazes glanced off the back of his head without concern. He didn't care what anyone thought of his role in the attack; he just wanted Bill to be okay.

Due to the Ranch's distance from civilization, the hospital sent in a helicopter to retrieve Bill. Tom begged to be allowed to go with him to the hospital, but the paramedics firmly told him that only family was allowed.

When Randy returned to take everyone back to the main house, he was greeted with dozens of questions from the campers. Tom hung back as Randy did his best to explain that one of the group had been injured, but everything was under control now.

Tom's stomach turned, listening to Randy's calm, soothing tone. Nothing was under control, and nothing was going to be all right. In fact, he knew that tonight was only the beginning of a long, painful ordeal.

His stomach knotted up even tighter when they arrived at the main house to see the red and blue strobe lights of police cars flashing across the open grass and surrounding buildings. A wave of confused whispers passed like a wave down the line of campers, and Randy turned around to assure them once more that “everything was okay.”

Tom dismounted his horse and slowly walked up the drive to where several squad cars were parked and officers were speaking with Natalie. The cultured and confident boss appeared worn down, and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. When her tired eyes slid over to catch a glimpse of Tom, he wasn't sure of the emotion that lay there. She had every right to blame him for this catastrophe, but he had hoped to have at least one ally left.

“Are you okay?” He asked, as he approached.

“I'm fine.” She murmured, forcing a bland smile onto her lips.

“You're Mr. Kaulitz?” The officer questioning Natalie asked.

“Yes, sir.” Tom replied, trying to keep his voice even.

“We'll need to ask you some questions, and from what we've gathered from Ms. Franz here, it's likely you'll have to go to the station with us.”

“Okay.” Tom whispered, hollowly.

He kept his face calm and agreeable, but the news hit him like a ramrod in the stomach. A sense of panic engulfed him, followed by the same crushing emotion as before – the sense that the same nightmare was occurring all over again.

“Officer Schafer can take your statement.” The man added, motioning to another cop who stood nearby.

Tom nodded, weakly, unable to speak.

“Come over here with me.” Officer Schafer said, with a wave of his hand.

Tom numbly followed the short, stocky police officer several feet away from Natalie. Schafer flipped open his notebook and whipped a pen out of his pocket.

“All right, as best you can, give me all the details of what happened.” Schafer said, “Don't leave anything out, even if you think it's unimportant.”

“Okay.” Tom replied.

He proceeded to explain how Tiffany had approached him, saying she noticed Dirk, Nora, and two other boys following Bill into the woods, and how he and Tiffany gone into the woods to find Bill. He made sure to state that he had seen Nora run in the other direction, looking terrified, and that Dirk had been present when he and Tiffany arrived at the scene.

In short, he could only remember the large, important details. Everything else was swallowed in panic and adrenaline, and the single directive to find Bill.

Schafer didn't press for more details, just scribbled everything down in his notebook while watching Tom with narrowed, intuitive eyes.

The sky was just beginning to glow pink and blue with the sunrise by the time the officers had collected all of the statements.

All of the people who had been present for the camping trip were assembled in the mess hall, while everyone else was allowed to go to bed. Most of the teens and adults in the mess hall were sprawled on the tables, or even lying on the floor, trying to catch a hint of rest after the stressful night.

Tom sat at a distance from the rest of the group, cradling his head in both hands and fighting off recurring waves of panic. He was completely drained, his nerves frayed, and his mind exhausted, but he could not lay his head down and rest. His mind just kept turning, over and over again, fearing the unknown, fearing what might become of him . . .

“Here you go.”

He startled when a hand touched his shoulder, but let out a deep breath when he realized it was only Natalie, offering him a cup of coffee.

“Shit, sorry.” He muttered, “I'm just on edge I guess.”

Natalie murmured an agreement and sat down next to him with her own cup of coffee.

“Drink that.” She suggested, “I have a feeling the day isn't over yet.”

Tom sighed and took a drink of the hot, freshly brewed coffee.

“I know you're probably tired of answering questions . . . .” Natalie began, quietly, “But, I . . .”

“Yeah, I am.” Tom cut in, holding up a hand to stop her.

“Tom, I'm on your side.” Natalie whispered, leaning closer to him, “I'm your friend, and I will always be on your side.”

Tom held his eyes closed for a moment, fighting back a wave of tears. Natalie's fingers curled around his and squeezed gently.

“I'm sorry, Nati.” Tom said, at last, “I didn't mean . . .”

“I know.” Natalie replied, “It's okay.”

Tom squeezed her hand back, relishing the brief moment of calm it provided. He should be accepting every ounce of grace and love Natalie showed; he didn't doubt it was the last he would taste for awhile.

“I didn't hurt him.” Tom said, at last.

“I know.”

“We were fighting before he ran off.” Tom added, quietly. He stared hard at the smooth, wood surface of the table until the image blurred with tears, “How is that going to look?”

“It might look bad.” Natalie replied, “But they have a dozen people to question and more than one side to the story. They will find the truth.”

“You know what they will find?” Tom said, sharply, “Charlotte.”

“Tom . . .” Natalie began, shaking her head.

“If they consider me a suspect for even a second, they will run background checks, and dig my life apart, trying to find the evidence.” Tom insisted, his voice shaking. “And when they do, they are going to find out about Charlotte, and they are going to suspect that . . . that . . .”

His voice faltered and he bent over, holding both hands over his head. Several tears broke free, dampening his palms.

“They cleared you of any wrongdoing.” Natalie said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“That doesn't mean anything.” Tom whispered, miserably, “It doesn't mean a damn thing, especially with all these rich kids involved. Their parents probably have million dollar lawyers retained to get their kids out of these things.”

“That won't happen.” Natalie insisted.

“How do you know?” Tom asked, not lifting his head, “I can't do this again, Natalie. I can't . . .”

“Tom.” Natalie whispered, sadly.

She put her arms around his shoulders and held him close. She didn't say anything; she simply held him, just like before. Tom could only dare to hope that, just like last time, everything would turn out okay.

 

~

 

Bill's eyes opened slowly, catching blurry glimpses of white walls and a machine monitoring his vital signs. He was dressed in a hospital gown, and an IV dripped clear liquid into his arm.

He knew who he was. He knew he was in a hospital – but his reasons for being here were distant, if not completely unknown.

Bill anxiously moved his body parts, terrified to know how seriously he had been injured. Much to his relief, his legs, arms, fingers, and toes moved properly.

Bill opened his eyes wider and glanced around the room, searching for anything that would tell him why he was here. He was shocked to see his mother sitting in a nearby chair, texting rapidly on her phone. Her face was drawn with worry, and her shoulders were tense.

“Mom?” Bill croaked, from behind dry lips.

Simone's head jerked up, and her eyes widened.

“Bill, oh my god.” She whispered, rushing to his side, “You're awake.”

She sank to the edge of the bed and cradled his face in both hands, showering his forehead and cheeks with warm, loving kisses. Bill slowly lifted a hand to touch her arm.

“Mom . . .” He said, trying to raise his voice above a whisper. His throat was scratchy and aching, as if he had been screaming for days.

“Oh my god.” Simone repeated, leaning back to look into his eyes, “How are you feeling?”

Bill shook his head, confused, “Like I got hit by a truck.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Simone asked anxiously.

Bill swallowed hard, and searched his memory. He could recall bits and pieces of last night – the trip, being upset, fighting with Tom . . .

“Shit.” Bill muttered, feeling tears swell behind his eyelids.

“What?” Simone asked, her hand fluttering over his hair, “What is it?”

“I . . . I can't remember.” Bill replied, his voice choked with tears.

“It's okay, honey.” Simone said, stroking his cheek, “Just rest, okay? Don't stress yourself about it.”

“Do . .. do you know?” Bill asked, catching Simone's wrist before she could get up, “What happened to me?”

Simone's brow furrowed, “Oh, honey.”

“What?” Bill insisted, feeling his heart begin to pound harder.

“They . . . they said someone found you out in the woods.” Simone whispered, her eyes filling with tears, “You were hurt.”

“Someone beat me up?” Bill asked, fearfully.

His heart fluttered like a caged hummingbird, and his brow felt cold with sweat. The blank gap in his memory terrified him; he needed to know what had happened to him, no matter how awful it was.

Simone pursed her lips, and stroked his hair. A quiet sob broke past her lips. Leaning forward, she gathered Bill into her arms. Bill put the arm not anchored by the IV around his mother, holding on tight as she sobbed into his shoulder. His own tears were scarce, his emotions ruled by that emptiness in his mind. He was scared, and numb all at once. He wished someone would give him all the details.

At last, Simone sat upright and wiped her eyes. Offering a weak, assuring smile, she patted his shoulder and rose from the bed.

“I'll get the nurse, and let them know you're awake.”

Simone was only gone for a short time, before she returned with a young lady in a nurse's garb. She had the bronzed skin, and thick, black hair of Indian descent, and when she spoke, she had light, enchanting accent.

“Hello, Bill. I'm Ana.” She said, sitting down next to him, “How are you feeling?”

Bill felt a sense of calm wash over him as she took his wrist in her hand and checked his pulse, while she touched his forehead with the other.

“Like shit.” He replied.

“Feeling a little weak, and fuzzy?” She questioned, softly.

Bill nodded.

“We've given you some medicine for the pain.” She nodded toward the IV, “Also, you haven't eaten much.”

Ana pulled a small light from her jacket and gently pulled his eyelids back. She checked each eye, then held the light back.

“Follow the light.” She instructed.

Bill watched the light go back and forth, his mind quietly screaming to be told the truth. Everyone was acting as if he had been horribly injured; as if he were fragile. And maybe he was.

“All right.” Ana said, with a smile as she put the light away, “Everything is looking good and stable . . . Do you remember anything, Bill?”

Bill shook his head, “Not really.”

“Anything at all?”

“Just . . .” Bill began, then shook his head, “No.”

“Okay. You may be experiencing some psychogenic amnesia. It's what happens when a person has been through a traumatic event. The brain momentarily erases what has happened, to protect you from the damage.” Ana explained, her eyes sympathetic, “The memories should return eventually.”

“Do I want them to?” Bill asked, quietly.

Ana's thin brows furrowed. Patting his hand with a warm palm, she replied, “Right now, it's best to focus on getting better.”

Rising from the bed, Ana marked a few notes on the chart hanging from the end of the bed. She gave both Bill and Simone a smile and said, “I'll be back to check on Bill. I'm going to page Dr. Jackson and let him know your status. He should be in shortly to see you and your parents.”

“Thank you.” Simone said.

As the nurse left the room, Bill caught a glimpse of Gordon standing in the hallway. His stepfather was talking on his cellphone, appearing agitated. He waved a hand sharply through the air and snapped something into the phone, almost loud enough for Bill to hear. The door swung shut before Bill could see anything else.

“Who's Gordon talking to?” He asked Simone.

“Oh,” Simone said, shaking her head, “He's been on the phone all morning, trying to get the best person here.”

“The best person for what?” Bill asked, pushing himself upright in the bed.

“An investigator.” Simone replied, shaking her head, “As if the authorities here can't deal with it.”

“Oh.” Bill whispered.

Reasonably, he should want someone on his side, defending him, ready to throw the attacker in jail the moment they had enough evidence, but since it would be Gordon's lackey, Bill only felt a sense of dread.

 

~

 

Simone's son was beautiful – he was perfect in every way.

She could remember laying eyes on him for the first time, while her husband, Jorg, lingered at her side. It had been a difficult pregnancy and birth, but Bill had emerged into this world unharmed, flawless. He was petite, and pale, with luminous dark eyes that swallowed her up with every glance. She was in love with this angel boy, and nothing else could have mattered.

Jorg's death had rocked both their worlds, but together, they had found a way to survive. While Simone worked two jobs to keep their rent paid and Bill in school, her son had grown and transformed into a smart, cunning, confident, and mature young man. It seemed that every day she was gone at work, she came home to find him older and wiser than the day before.

It was Gordon that had truly changed her life for good. Perhaps she could have gone on living that way, barely surviving with her beautiful, happy child to keep her sane. But she was weary, and Gordon had been kind – too kind. He was charming and handsome; he showered her with gifts and affection, until she could do nothing but surrender to the pressure.

Simone had never thought of changing. In fact, she had always thought she stayed the same, simply in a different environment – in Gordon's world. But her son – she watched him change, and not nearly in the positive, flourishing way as before. He grew cold and distant, like a flower closing up it's petals to the sun. He didn't listen to her anymore, and when she put her arms around him, he pulled away all too quickly.

Perhaps she would never know what had driven Bill away – but she did know what had kept him from ever returning. It was Gordon – the dark angel that had rescued her from certain self-destruction and poverty. The man who had seduced her so smoothly, that had drawn her in like a snake's prey to it's coil.

He hurt Bill, and he hurt the boy often. Much to Simone's disgrace and horror, she hadn't given a damn for years. Bill was willful, rebellious, and ignorant to how much he had been blessed. He ignored her feelings, he got himself into trouble at school, and he wasn't sorry for any of it. She had given her life to making him happy and secure, and he had thrown it all away for some passing stage of teenage rebellion. Let him be punished, she thought. Let him get what he deserves.

Until now.

Her son lay in a hospital bed, covered in cuts and bruises. His body was broken, hurt and twisted in a way it never should be.

Here he lay, holding her as she cried, just as she had held him the day of his birth. Yes, he was beautiful and perfect. Yes, he had broken her heart so many times. Yes, their relationship was in pathetic shambles . . . But her cold, tempered heart was finally broken – shattered into a million pieces over the destruction of the one person that had once been her entire life.

Something had happened to Bill. Maybe he hadn't had the courage to tell her, but she knew. A mother always knew. He was hurt, deep down inside, way deeper than Gordon could reach. But this was the finish line; her son couldn't take any more. She wouldn't let him take any more.

Simone had come to this conclusion as she watched the nurse, Ana, look over Bill. Watching his wretched, terrified expression, she could glimpse very little of the rebellious, angry boy she had sent away nearly a month ago. She wasn't angry anymore, and now, she wished she had let go of her resentment much earlier.

Shortly after the nurse left, Dr. Jackson, the man who had attended to Bill upon his arrival at the hospital, entered the room. Gordon, who was finally off the phone, followed the doctor inside.

“Hi, Bill.” The doctor said, “I'm Dr. Jackson.”

“Hi.” Bill replied, watching the doctor with a wary gaze.

“Your nurse just paged me, and it sounds like you are coming along well.” Dr. Jackson continued, “But she told me you're having trouble remembering?”

“Yeah.” Bill said, quietly, “There's this blank gap in my memory.”

“So, you don't remember anything about what happened to you?”

“No.” Bill shook his head. Biting his lip, he gazed up anxiously at the doctor, “Can you tell me?”

Simone felt her heart squeeze painfully. A fresh wave of tears rose in her eyes and she lifted a hand to suppress them. The news had come to her like a knife in the chest – unexpected and painful, shocking and disturbing. She wanted to jump in between Bill and the doctor and scream it was best that Bill never know – but she knew it was her son's right.

“You were attacked.” Dr. Jackson said, gently, “Hit several times in the face and stomach. You have multiple contusions and a fractured rib.”

Bill pursed his lips to keep them from quivering, but a tear escaped down his pale cheek. Staring hard at the sheets, he let out a harsh breath.

“Is that all?”

Dr. Jackson glanced at Gordon and Simone, his brow furrowed, “Perhaps it would be best if you left the room.”

“Just tell me!” Bill burst out, a sudden flare of red blooming across his cheeks, “You can't keep it from me forever!”

Dr. Jackson came to Bill's side, resting a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, “Calm down, son.”

“I'm not your son! Now tell me.” Bill snapped, jerking his shoulder out of the doctor's grip.

Simone took a faltering step forward, wanting to protect her son, but Gordon caught her hand.

“He has to hear it.” Gordon said, quietly.

Dr. Jackson drew in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. His voice was muted and careful as possible as he said, “According to evidence gathered at the scene by the police officers, you were the victim of . . . of foreign object rape.”

Stifling silence enveloped the room. All three adults gazed at Bill as the news sank in, forcing fresh tears to his eyelids. Bill blinked rapidly, causing a tear to spill down each cheek. Biting his lower lip, he tried to keep his mouth and chin from quivering, but the emotion twisted his features.

“Who?” He whispered, his voice guttural and choked with tears.

“Some suspects are in custody.” Gordon stepped in, “Nothing has been confirmed yet, but your dear friend, Mr. Kaulitz is one them.”

Bill's gaze snapped to Gordon, as fiery as it was liquid.

“Tom?”

“Yes.” Gordon replied, “I'm bringing someone with credentials in to review all of the evidence. I don't know any of these people out here, but the governor does.”

“You called the governor?” Simone asked, in surprise.

“We went to college together.” Gordon said, “He knows just who to bring in.”

“Who?” Simone asked.

Gordon crossed his arms, looking rather pleased with himself, “She'll be here within the hour.”

Bill was quiet for a few moments, staring at his lap. Simone drifted closer to him, her heart aching to protect her son – even if it may have been too late.

Bill cast a dark gaze at Gordon, his eyes both curious and defensive, “What do you think you have on Tom?”

Gordon arched an eyebrow, appearing amused by Bill's ignorance. Simone gave a sigh and rested a gentle hand on Bill's head, stroking his long, black hair.

“You really don't know?” Gordon asked, “After spending two weeks with this guy?”

“Know what?” Bill asked, impatiently.

“Thursday night, when the three of us didn't have our video conference, I had a private conference with Peter.” Gordon replied, “Peter used to be the Los Angeles police department, and he still has a few connections.”

Bill's eyes widened. Simone and Gordon had never told him that his nanny was a retired detective, simply because they knew his reaction could land him in the company of active policemen.

“He told me some very interesting things about your Tom.” Gordon added, spitting out Tom's name with venom, “Things you probably should have known before getting involved.”

 

 

 


	28. Charlotte

The four walls and one-way window of the interrogation room were growing tiresome. The metal chair was uncomfortable, and Tom was weary was staring at his reflection in the glass across the room from him.

With a tired sigh, Tom laid his head down on the table and closed his eyes. He had been awake since early yesterday morning, and despite the coffee Natalie had given him, he could barely keep himself alert.

He had been mercilessly grilled about last night's events by two police detectives – a seasoned, older gentlemen, and an energetic and relentless younger man. All Tom could do was tell the truth, but neither detective seemed to believe him. His adrenaline was wasted, his mind worn raw from thinking and worrying. He had but a few drops of energy left inside him.

As he laid there with his head on the cold, metal table, Tom considered breaking down crying. The consideration was quickly followed by the desire to jump up out of the chair and beat that glass window in until he reached the authorities on the other side. No matter how exhausted and drained he felt, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed, he could not give up – he was innocent, and eventually, they would have to realize that fact.

Tom jarred awake when he heard the lock turn and the door swing open. His head shot up from the table, one hand swiping at his tired eyes. He wasn't sure if he had only drifted off, or if he had been asleep for much longer.

The door fell shut with a loud thud behind the back of a tall woman wearing a black slacks and jacket ensemble with a frilly, lime green blouse. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail at her nape, giving her exotic looks a professional air. Mocha brown eyes looked Tom up and down, giving a flicker of curiosity but nothing more.

“Hello, Tom.” She said, crossing the room at a rapid pace, “I'm SSA Amethyst Kelly. I just arrived from the Helena field office to review this case. You can call me Agent Kelly.”

“I'm sorry . . . Agent?” Tom asked, confusion and fear beginning to swirl in his stomach, “As in FBI?”

“That's right.” She replied, taking a seat opposite Tom, “I'm a profiler.”

Tom licked his lips anxiously, “You, um . .. The FBI is interested in this case?”

“No, just me.” She replied, giving a bare smile, “Now, can I ask you some questions?”

Tom swallowed hard and shifted in the chair. His heart pounded a sickening beat, each pump of racing blood recalling memories he had lived a million times but tried so hard to bury. If the FBI was involved, no matter how minimally, this incident had gotten much bigger. And he could be in a lot more trouble than he had ever predicted.

“According to my research,” Agent Kelly said, flipping open her case file, “Tom Kaulitz didn't come into existence until six years ago. You were formerly known as Tom Herschner, from Madburg, Montana. Is that right?”

“Yes.” Tom whispered.

He had already answered these questions when the pair of detectives first brought him in here, but their good cop/bad cop routine hadn't scared him nearly as much as Agent Kelly's confident exterior and composed tone of voice.

“You weren't very hard to find, Mr. Herschner.”

“I wasn't hiding from the law.” Tom replied, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Then who?”

“If you read my file, then you know.” Tom replied, feeling the familiar choke of tears in his throat.

“Charlotte. Your daughter.” Agent Kelly supplied, her eyes narrowing.

Tom pursed his lips and dropped his gaze to his tightly clasped hands. He didn't want to go through this conversation one more time today, rehashing the painful events that had driven him from his home – maybe he couldn't.

“No, not from her.” Tom replied, shakily, “I just wanted to find her. I just wanted her to be okay.”

“You were hiding from her memory.” Agent Kelly replied.

She pulled another file from her briefcase and slapped it open in front of him, displaying a dozen crime scene photos and the autopsy report. Each snapshot captured pale, youthful flesh, white in death and marked by the child victim's own blood. Her dark brown eyes were wide open, an expression of terror caught in her final moment of waking.

Tom brought a hand to his mouth, muffling the sob that threatened to burst from his lips. The pictures blurred before his vision, and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Charlotte Herschner, six years old.” Agent Kelly narrated, pointing the image of the little girl's face, “Snatched from a playground at approximately nine o'clock p.m., on Saturday, October fifth, 2008. Three days later, her dead body was discovered in a ditch, wrapped in a sheet. She had been bound, mouth taped, repeatedly sexually assaulted. She died from head injuries. Her father, who had been missing for those three days, was brought in for questioning, and later charged with her death. After being held and questioned for several days, the charges were revoked. The case never went to court, but the whole town believed he was guilty. His wife divorced him, kicked him out. He had nothing left, not even the memory of his child who he-”

“Stop!” Tom screamed, bursting from the chair so fast that it flipped backwards and clattered loudly to the ground.

Agent Kelly ceased speaking. Gazing up at him with an unfazed, calm expression, she waited for his response – an admission of guilt, or a reasonable defense.

Tom's body trembled with anger and pain, and his head throbbed. Tears dried on his cheeks, leaving behind deep, aching trails, a testimony of his innocence.

“I did not kill my daughter.” He whispered, harshly, leaning over the table to glare directly into the agent's eyes, “Whatever you, or anyone in this station – or everyone in Madburg, for that matter – believes, I _did not kill her._ ”

Agent Kelly drew in a deep breath, the first sign that he may have rattled her.

“Please, sit back down.” She suggested, waving a hand to his over turned chair.

Tom hesitated for only a few more moments before leaning over to set the chair upright again. He sank to the seat with a heavy sigh. Without glancing up, he flipped the case file shut, hiding the painful crime scene photos from view.

“If you would simply fill in the blanks for me, I might believe you.” Agent Kelly continued, “For instance, why did you have your daughter on a playground at nine o'clock at night, and where were you for three days?”

Tom gazed warily at the agent for several moments. He had answered these questions six years ago, and the truth had allowed him to be released without facing trial. But the evidence hadn't stopped a whole town from turning against him; it hadn't stopped his wife from destroying the last of his hope.

“Penny, my wife.” He said, his voice rough from emotion, “She and I were having our share of problems.”

Agent Kelly clasped her hands on the table in front of her and nodded in understanding. Her face was attentive, if not compassionate. He could only dare to hope that she was one of the few who would believe him.

“We were fighting a lot.” Tom continued, “She even called the police one time, trying to get me out of the house. They said they couldn't kick me out of the house if I wasn't physically harming her. That pissed her off even more, so of course, things got worse after that. I finally made the decision that we should separate. But there was one problem.”

“Charlotte.” Agent Kelly interjected, quietly.

Tom nodded and scraped a hand through his hair, “She was only six years old. We didn't want to ask her who she would rather live with. Charlotte was the only thing we agreed on. But it seemed like every day, we were fighting worse and worse. One day, we were having an argument, and she was getting her keys, ready to leave the house. She tripped, fell down some stairs. She called the police again, and this time, claimed I had pushed her. We went through this whole thing at the police department, answering questions, and I guess she finally realized she couldn't pin me for the bruise on her face. She didn't press charges, and we went home, angrier than before.”

“You're making your wife sound pretty crazy.” Kelly interrupted, “You don't think she was all to blame, do you?”

“No, I know I had my share in it.” Tom shook his head, “But God knew I tried to make her happy. I tried giving her what she wanted, but she made me so fucking mad.”

“After the tripping incident, what happened?”

“Penny liked to drink.” Tom said, with a shrug, “And it got worse when we were fighting. She was drunk out of her mind one night, and said she was gonna leave me. She grabbed Charlotte and ran out to the car. I ran after her, and got outside just in time to see her run the car into the ditch. I ran over, and got Charlotte out of the car. She was crying and begging me to protect her – that's when I knew I had to end it. I couldn't let Charlotte be in danger because of mine and Penny's fights. I got the car out of the ditch after yelling at Penny for being so stupid. We went to bed that night, everyone upset and scared. I couldn't sleep, knowing what had happened, so I got up and packed some bags for me and Charlotte. We left early that morning, and I booked us a hotel.”

“When was this?”

“October.” Tom replied, rubbing a hand over his face, “October third.”

Agent Kelly nodded somberly, her eyes sparking with realization, “So, what happened on the playground?”

“Penny kept calling me, wanting to know where I was at.” Tom explained, “She said if I didn't come home, she was going to file a missing persons report for Charlotte. She sounded so pissed off over the phone that I didn't want to go back. I told her I was going to the courthouse to file for divorce and that I was going to fight with all I had to get custody of Charlotte. But I knew that I wouldn't be able to get custody of Charlotte without some real evidence of Penny's mental issues. I went to highschool with this guy who became a PI. I made a phone call and asked him if he could take my case.”

“You want him to catch Penny doing something that would reasonably be a danger to Charlotte if she had custody?” Kelly concluded.

“Yeah.” Tom nodded, “I figured, Penny had been fighting me tooth and nail, so I had to return with the same force. Bob Force, the P.I. I called, said we could meet anywhere close to his apartment because he was already running late on another case. Charlotte was tired of being locked up in the hotel room, so I thought I could let her stretch her legs on the playground . . .”

“She disappeared during the meeting?” Agent Kelly asked, softly.

Tom drew in a deep breath and swallowed back emotion. A debilitating wave of regret clenched his heart so hard he couldn't speak for several moments.

“I wish I would have called the police the moment Penny wrecked the car with Charlotte.” Tom whispered, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his tear ducts, “I wish I never would have taken my baby to that playground . . . .”

“You didn't see or hear anything?” Kelly asked, gently.

“One moment, I looked and she was playing on the swings.” Tom explained, his voice trembling, “The next moment, I looked back, she was nowhere to be seen.”

“Did your friend help you look for her?”

“Yeah, Bob and I looked all over the neighborhood.” Tom replied, “She wasn't anywhere.”

“Why didn't you call the police?”

“Bob said I could be charged with negligence, that Charlotte could be taken away from me and that I'd never see her again.” Tom said, tears creeping into his voice, “God, I was so stupid to listen to him.”

“You looked for her during those three days?” Kelly asked.

Tom nodded weakly, “I looked everywhere. Finally, I was driving down the road one day, and I saw the sheet in the ditch. I pulled over and got out. It smelled horrible . . . and somehow, I knew it was her.”

“You found her?” Kelly asked, her eyes wide.

“She was already dead.” Tom whispered, focusing on the dull, metal surface of the table, “Cold, abused, lifeless . . . Gone.”

“That must have been awful for you. I couldn't imagine . . .”

“I'll never forget it.” Tom replied, cradling his head in both hands, “Not until the day I die.”

“You called the police at this point?”

“Yes. I left an anonymous tip and went back to my hotel room to wait.” Tom replied, “I knew they would be coming for me, and that I would probably be accused of the murder. At this point, I didn't feel like I had anything left to live for. After the whole thing got splashed across the news, and I was announced as the primary suspect, I knew my feelings were correct. Of course, they had no evidence and I was acquitted, but after it was all over and Penny agreed to sign the divorce papers, I just couldn't stay there anymore. A friend of mine knew about the Miranda, and told me the ranch was therapeutic. I didn't care about therapy and getting better; I just wanted to hide.”

“And changed your name to Tom Kaulitz.” Kelly finished for him.

Tom nodded, “My mother's maiden name.”

“Well,” Kelly said, drawing in a deep breath, “I don't have a say in the case of your daughter, but it does affect what's happened here in the present.”

“You think I hurt Bill?” Tom asked.

“It doesn't matter what I think.” Kelly replied, “I can only present the evidence and my profile as clearly as possible.”

“And what is my profile?”

“Your profile is that you are a hurting, lonely man who never got over the loss of his daughter, but still searching desperately for compassion from someone.” Kelly replied, her tone even but hinting at sympathy, “I've read your statement from last night, and I won't make you tell the story again. As far as I'm concerned, you've already answered all my questions.”

Rising from the table, Agent Kelly gathered her case files and slid them back into her briefcase. Hoisting the bag over her shoulder, she turned to leave the interrogation room.

“Wait,” Tom said, standing from his chair, “You don't want to ask me about Bill?”

Kelly gave a slight shrug, “I know you were sleeping with him, Tom. But I also know you didn't hurt him . . . You should get some rest now.”

Before Tom could process what she had just said, the woman slipped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

Tom sank heavily to his chair and stared wonderingly at the door Agent Kelly had just disappeared through. For the first time in the past twenty-four hours, he could dare to hope that everything was going to be okay.

 

~

 

Agent Amethyst Kelly stood on the other side of the glass, brows drawn and arms crossed in a thoughtful pose, as she observed Tom Kaulitz in his cage.

“You think he's good for it?” Detective Mike Lord questioned as he entered the observation room.

Lord, a young, good-looking detective, had been up her ass the moment Kelly arrived. She wasn't sure whether he was interested in her profiling skills or just her ass.

“No.” Kelly murmured, reaching out to touch the glass with her fingertip. At this angle, it appeared that her finger rested against Tom's forehead.

“Why not?” Lord questioned, “That ranch hand – what was his name? Randy? He told us that he and the boss's niece found him kneeling over the kid.”

“That only means Kaulitz found the victim.” Kelly replied, squelching the irritation from her tone, “We don't have the whole story yet.”

“We interviewed everyone that was on that camping trip.” Lord said, pulling his notebook out of his pocket, “I have a complete list of everyone present.”

“I want to talk to the witnesses.” Kelly said, letting her fingertip slide away from the glass. She turned to looked at Lord, “The niece in particular, and the young lady who Kaulitz says alerted him to the danger.”

Lord shook his head, “Damn . . . Somebody is lying here, and I was ready to pin it on that guy.”

“Kaulitz?” Kelly said, hooking her thumb back at the interrogation room, “Believe me when I say, the only reason that man would become violent is if someone threatened him or someone he loved.”

“Is that your profiling magic?”

“It's not magic.” Kelly replied, “It's simple observation.”

 


	29. Questions And Answers

Nora's hair was obviously bottle blond. Her ears were pierced twice at the lobes and once at the cartilage. Her nails were manicured and flawless. Each article of clothing was from some brand name store.

Agent Kelly looked the young girl up and down with a searing gaze as she entered the room. To keep things non-confrontational and smooth, Kelly had requested that Nora be questioned in one of the detectives offices, where there was a sofa for her to sit on. Kelly didn't want to scare her or make her lawyer up because the agent quite suspected that Nora was the one lying.

“Hello, Nora.” Kelly said, offering a warm smile.

“Hi.” Nora said, licking her lips and anxiously smoothing her hair behind one ear.

“I'm SSA Kelly. I'm here to review the case.” Kelly said, sitting down on the sofa next to Nora, “I was told you witnessed something important.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Nora whispered, toying with one cuff of her hoodie.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Me and my boyfriend Dirk sneaked out of camp.” Nora said, not meeting Kelly's gaze, “We were just messing around, you know?”

“Sexually?” Kelly asked, straightforwardly.

Nora nodded weakly.

“And then what?”

“I heard someone screaming.” Nora replied, “Dirk wanted to go see who it was, but I said we should go back to camp and get help. We were running through the woods, and we saw . . . we saw Tom.”

“You saw Tom Kaulitz in the woods?”

“Yes.”

“You didn't see the victim.”

“No.”

Kelly narrowed her eyes, once again noticing Nora's posture. She was slumped low in the sofa, hands constantly toying with her jacket. One leg bounced nervously, though Kelly hadn't noticed that tick upon entering the room.

“Did you know either Bill Trumper or Tom Kaulitz very well?” Kelly asked.

Nora shrugged, “Bill had only been here for two weeks, so . . . not really. But, um . . . I guess I've known Tom for awhile. He's been at the ranch for six years.”

“In the last six years, has he ever done anything to suspect him to be violent, or a sexual predator?”

Nora swallowed hard, “No, I mean . . . I guess so . ..”

“Like what?”

Nora squirmed in her chair, failing to answer for several moments.

“What makes you think Tom is violent, Nora?” Kelly prodded.

“He hit my boyfriend.” Nora said at last, “Last week.”

“Why?”

“There was a fight. Bill was involved.” Nora replied, “I don't know much else. I just know he attacked Dirk and hit him really hard. That's violent, right?”

Finally, Nora's gaze rose from her lap, and she met Kelly's stare with wide, blue eyes. There was a scream trapped in that gaze – a scream for help, a plea to escape. This girl was scared, but she wasn't scared of Tom. Kelly could see through all her lies as if they were paper thin. She almost wished she could tell the young lady to just stop, before she lost control.

“Thank you for your time.” Kelly said, “You should get some rest; this is going to be a long investigation.”

“That's all you wanted to ask?” Nora said, sounding relieved.

Kelly smiled, shortly, “For now.”

 

~

 

Detective Lord and his older partner, Allen Holloway, were waiting outside the office where Dirk sat, when Agent Kelly emerged, wearing a frown.

“Well?” Lord asked.

“Their stories don't line up.” Kelly said, shaking her head, “Nora claims that they heard the scream, and ran back to camp for help, while Dirk claims they heard the scream, saw Tom assaulting Bill, then ran back to the camp.”

Holloway pulled his notebook out of his pocket and began to flip through the dozens of pages of statements he had taken in the last twenty-four hours.

“That's not right either.” He muttered.

“What is it?” Kelly asked.

“I personally spoke with Randy Cyrus, the other chaperone on the trip. He's the one that found Kaulitz standing over the victim. According to his statement, Dirk wasn't with Nora when she came to tell him something was happening in the woods.”

Kelly briefly closed her eyes. The pieces of the story were starting to fall together like a scattered puzzle.

Turning to look through the office window, she judged Dirk's composure and disposition from a distance.

“What do you see when you look at him?” She asked.

“A jock.” Lord replied, instantly.

“With rich parents.” Holloway added, arching one brow.

“And what do you see when you look at Bill Trumper?” Kelly murmured, flipping open her case file to retrieve a photo of the young victim.

Lord gazed at the picture with narrowed eyes for a moment.

“Emo kid.” He concluded, “Long, black hair, eye liner. Outcast.”

“The kind that gets bullied by kids like Dirk McAllister.” Holloway said, slowly, with dawning realization.

“They're both lying, but one thing that can be corroborated by all parties is that Dirk had a fight with Bill that Tom Kaulitz intervened in.” Kelly replied, slapping her folder closed, “Tom wasn't being violent – just like I suspected, he was only protecting someone he cared very much about.”

“So obviously, this Dirk kid is more willing to hurt the victim than our prime suspect.” Holloway said, raising his hands in disbelief.

“You think it was Dirk, don't you?” Lord asked.

Kelly put her hands on her hips, “What do you think?”

“You're going to have a fun time pinning him down in court. His parents have a lot of money.” Holloway warned.

“I don't care.” Kelly replied, “I'm fifty percent certain that Dirk is the one who assaulted our victim; with a little more work, I'm going to make it one hundred percent.”

“Agent Kelly?”

Kelly looked up when an officer in uniform approached the three investigators. He was carrying a file from the hospital.

“This just came in.” The officer said, handing the file off to Kelly, “It's the full analysis on the Trumper kid.”

“Thank you.” Kelly muttered as she flipped open the folder.

Scanning the report, she could see in detail, what she already knew. Bill Trumper had been struck repeatedly in the face and ribs, resulting in fractured bones and multiple contusions. He had been brutally raped by a foreign object, now identified in the report as a tree branch.

“Jesus Christ.” Lord muttered, looking over her shoulder at the file, “Did he have to go that far?”

“You wouldn't believe what some young people are capable of.” Kelly said, shaking her head, “I investigated a case a couple of years ago, where two teenage girls killed their friend because she slept with one of their boyfriends. It's all about perception and anger.”

“Are you seeing this?” Lord asked, skimming his finger lower down the page, to the DNA report.

Kelly slapped the file closed.

“That little fucker.” She said, her voice low. Casting a dark gaze at Dirk, through the office window, she gave a short, cold smile, “I'm gonna nail your ass to the wall.”

 

~

 

Tiffany jumped when she heard the door open and shut firmly behind the statuesque, female agent. The woman swept into the room at an intimidating pace, clutching a file tightly in her right hand. Tiffany had been questioned thoroughly by Detectives Lord and Holloway, but she had only seen Agent Kelly from afar, until now.

“Hello, Tiffany.” Agent Kelly said with a professional smile, “I'm SSA Kelly. I'd just like to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.” Tiffany said in a whisper.

She could see Lord and Holloway on the other side of the office window, speaking between themselves like a couple of jackals. Upon questioning her, the pair had been threatening and unfriendly, trying to ring the truth out of her so that they could solve their case. Before, she had been adamant about making Dirk and Nora pay, but now – what if admitting what her own role had been sent her to juvie as well?

Kelly strode across the room and flipped the blinds shut, cutting off Tiffany's view of the detectives.

“Is that better?” She asked.

Tiffany nodded.

“They are just trying to do their jobs.” Kelly said, sitting down next to Tiffany on the sofa, “I'm sorry if they were rude.”

Tiffany shrugged, and stared at her lap.

“According to your statement, you alerted Mr. Kaulitz to the fact that Bill Trumper was in danger.”

Tiffany nodded, “Yeah, I heard screaming.”

“It also says, you saw Dirk and Nora go into the woods around the same time?”

“Yeah.”

“You were at the Ranch for about a week before this incident, is that correct?”

“Yeah.” Tiffany repeated.

“Did you notice any conflict between the victim, Bill Trumper, and Tom Kaulitz, or Dirk McAllister?”

“There was never conflict with Bill and Tom.” Tiffany replied, softly, “They liked each other.”

“Liked each other how?”

Tiffany shrugged and sank lower in her seat, “I don't know . . . They just did.”

“All right . . . How about between Dirk and Bill?”

“Yeah, everyone knew Dirk didn't like Bill. I think they went to high school together or something.” Tiffany replied, “They were always at each other's throats.”

“The night of the attack, did you see anything besides Dirk and Nora sneaking off?” Agent Kelly asked.

“I already said in my statement-”

“I know what it says.” Kelly interrupted, quietly but firmly, “But I'll let you in on a secret that I haven't told any of the other witnesses – I know one of you is lying, and I'm fairly certain I know who it is. I can promise you, I am going to catch whoever attacked Bill, and they are going to get in a lot of trouble.”

Tiffany looked up to see Agent Kelly gazing at her with soft, brown eyes that asked Tiffany to trust her. Her expression wasn't accusatory or threatening. Sitting this close, Tiffany noticed that the woman smelled faintly of vanilla and coconut, something that reminded Tiffany very much of her mother, who had died only three years ago.

Tiffany lifted a hand and covered her face, suppressing tears. She felt as if she were carrying the weight of a semi truck on her shoulders; that she would be crushed by fear, by the truth at any moment. She just wanted to let it go, and hope that Agent Kelly was there to break her fall.

“Tiffany,” Agent Kelly said, putting a hand on Tiffany's shoulder, “Telling the truth is always the best way to go. I am going to find out what happened, one way or another, and I would rather you not get taken down with the offender in the process.”

Tiffany pursed her lips and sniffed back tears, “I heard Tom was being arrested.”

“He's just being questioned, like everyone else.” Kelly replied.

“So . . . They're not sure it's him?”

“I'm not quite sure about everyone else, but I'm fairly certain it's not.”

“Oh . . .” Tiffany let out a breath she had been holding, and felt all the moisture rush to her eyes with it, “Oh god . . .”

“What is it?”

“This is all my fault.” Tiffany whispered, tears marking two wet paths down her cheeks, “I helped . . . Oh my god.”

Kelly grabbed several tissues from the box on the desk and pressed them into Tiffany's hand.

“Just tell the truth.” The agent advised, patting Tiffany's back gently.

“I helped Dirk and Nora.” Tiffany cried, “I came onto Tom to make Bill jealous, and in return, they gave me . . . drugs. I didn't think it would matter that much, and I just wanted to get high. But then I started feeling bad about it, and I told Nora I was done. She said she wouldn't give me the last payment if I didn't send a naked picture to Tom . . . I never saw what happened, but I know what I did. I made Bill and Tom get in a fight, and that's why Bill ran into the woods that night.”

Tiffany stopped, heaving in a breath and covering her face with the tissues. Her face was drenched in tears, and she could hardly breathe through the wrenching sobs. She knew she must be in so much trouble, but she suddenly didn't care. Letting go of the truth she had been covering up was like releasing a deadly poison from inside her body.

“Did you see Dirk and Nora attack Bill that night?” Kelly asked, softly.

“I went and got Tom.” Tiffany whispered, “We ran into the woods, in the direction I saw Bill go. We passed Nora on the way there. She was running and looked really scared. We could hear screaming, so we kept going, and that's when she found Bill. We saw three guys run off. I'm not sure who two of them were, but I'm pretty sure one of them was Dirk. When we go there, Tom just fell on the ground next to Bill, crying.”

Kelly sighed, and wordlessly shook her head.

“He didn't do it.” Tiffany sniffed, wiping at her watering eyes, “Tom didn't hurt Bill, Agent Kelly.”

“I know that.” Kelly said, reaching up to smooth a strand of hair back from Tiffany's tear-stained cheek, “And I know it took a lot for you to tell me your part in all this. So, when all of this finally goes to court, I'm going to vouch for you all I can. You're going to be in some trouble, but not nearly as much as Dirk and Nora.”

“Thank you.” Tiffany whispered, feeling fresh tears choke her throat. She hesitated for only a moment before throwing her arms around Kelly, “Thank you so much.”

 

~

 

Tom sat bolt upright, drawn from a restless sleep sprawled across the table, when the door slammed shut. His bleary eyes made out the figure of Agent Kelly, and rubbed his eyes to clear them.

Agent Kelly was quietly glowering, if Tom was not mistaken.

“Agent Kelly . . . More questions?” Tom asked, anxiously.

“No.” She said, shaking her head, “I actually came to tell you that you're free to go.”

“What?” Tom whispered, feeling his heart rise.

“You heard me.” She said, cracking a smile, “You're being released, as of a few minutes ago.”

“Oh my God.” Tom whispered.

Grateful tears rose in his eyes as he stood up from the hard, metal chair he had occupied for the last day.

“I've found the real culprit.” Agent Kelly continued, “And I'm in the process of having him booked now.”

Tom could hardly speak, he was so struck by disbelief and gratitude. He managed to whisper a “thank you” as Agent Kelly opened the door for him.

“You're welcome.” She said, dipping her head, “If you'll follow me, you can gather your things and head home to get some rest.”

“I don't know how to thank you.” Tom replied, “I really thought it was over for a bit.”

“Honestly, you can thank some stupid teenagers, for being such shitty liars.” Kelly said, lowering her voice as they came out of the hallway and into the main lobby of the police station.

Detective Lord handed Tom his jacket, wallet and phone. Tom claimed his belongings with more care toward the objects than ever before. Head swimming with surprise and relief, he felt slightly giddy. The surreal moment still hadn't passed, and he doubted it would until he saw Bill.

He had spent the last several hours, pondering his fate, and wondering if he would be looking at the bars of a jail cell for the next ten years. At one point, he had actually accepted that he would be convicted for the attack, and as twisted as it seemed, he had been momentarily relieved. After years of running and hiding and suppressing his guilt about Charlotte, it would finally be over. He would be punished, and maybe it was right, even if it was for the wrong offense. Now, he knew that, in reality, that scenario would have never been okay, because it meant not laying eyes on Bill for the rest of his life.

Tom was thanking Agent Kelly once more when the front door of the police station flew open and a middle-aged man with graying hair and a solid build stormed inside. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and his cheeks were flushed with anger.

“Detectives? Agent Kelly?” The furious man bellowed as he crossed the lobby at a fast clip, “I heard you were releasing the man who attacked my son.”

“Mr. Trumper, please calm down.” Agent Kelly said, holding up a hand, “Mr. Kaulitz has been cleared.”

With a sickening feeling that dampened Tom's rising spirits, Tom realized that the man about to charge him like a bull was none other than Gordon – the guy that Tom had spent the last two weeks mentally beating to a pulp for abusing Bill.

“How dare you call him your son!” Tom burst out, taking a charging step forward.

Agent Kelly stepped between them, eyes wide with surprise at the rapid escalation between the two men.

“Both of you, calm down!” She raised her voice over Gordon's cursing.

“Why are you releasing him?” Gordon insisted.

“Because I'm innocent, you lying, abusing bastard.” Tom hissed, lunging against the barrier of Kelly's arm.

Gordon sputtered with a proper retort while Kelly attempted to silence them both.

“Mr. Kaulitz has been cleared of any wrong doing.” She said loudly and clearly, “The real offender has been detained and is in the process of being booked.”

“Who?” Gordon snapped, his jaw quivering with anger.

“His name is Dirk McAllister.” Kelly replied, “I believe he attended high school with Bill.”

Gordon's expression lost a bit of it's anger to shock, “Dirk McAllister . . . That little shit.”

“Yes.” Kelly replied, arching a brow, “He is. And he will receive just punishment for what he's done. But Mr. Kaulitz is free to go.”

Gordon's eyes narrowed and he pointed a finger at Tom, “I know you've been screwing around with Bill.”

“Mr. Trumper, Bill is seventeen – well within the age of consent.” Kelly reminded him, calmly.

“He's just a kid.” Gordon replied, “Too young for this guy.”

“That's not up to us, I'm afraid.” Kelly said, “I suggest you learn how to better control your son, Mr. Trumper.”

Gordon backed away from Kelly, smoothing his hair back with one hand.

“All right, I suppose I should trust the police department to do their jobs right, but . . .” He said, waving a hand in Tom's direction, “I'll remember you, Tom Kaulitz.”

He turned to leave, but Agent Kelly followed him with a sharp tone, “Mr. Trumper.”

“Yes?”

“I suggest you abandon whatever idea of revenge you have.” Kelly advised with a stern glare, “I'll have you know, I have a very good memory, and should both your names come up in another police report, I'll know what happened – and you won't get away with it.”

Gordon grunted something indiscernible, cast one last glare at Tom, and left the police station just as quickly as he had entered.

“Thank you.” Tom said as Kelly returned to his side.

“You're welcome. How about I give you a ride back to the Ranch?” Kelly suggested.

“Sure. I would appreciate that.”

The sun was starting to set, casting shades of pink and purple across the cloudless blue sky. Tom breathed in the warm, summer air as he and Agent Kelly walked across the parking lot to her unmarked, black Crown Vic. That he had the freedom just to walk and breathe in the outdoors made his heart lighter than it had been in days.

They were quiet as they got into the car and pulled out of the parking lot. But Kelly broke the silence the moment they were on the road.

“I've talked to a lot of people today, and it sounds like you really care about Bill.”

Tom glanced at her, trying to detect accusation, or simple curiosity.

Kelly gave him a wry smile, “I'm setting you free, Tom, not trying to throw you back in that room.”

Tom replied with a weak smile. He turned his gaze to the road ahead.

“Yeah, I care about him.” He said, quietly, “I wouldn't ever hurt him.”

“I know that now.”

“So, how did you?” Tom asked.

“How did I what?”

“Get to know that I didn't hurt him?”

Kelly shook her head and gripped the steering wheel tighter, “I'm a profiler, Tom. I look at behavior and patterns. When I talked to you, I didn't see violence or anger, I just saw pain and sadness. Whoever attacked Bill did it out of extreme rage and dislike toward Bill. The sexual assault was for humiliation not a sexual element. It was obvious to me very early on that you didn't do it.”

“Everyone else seemed to think so.” Tom said.

“Everyone else was busy jumping to conclusions and trying to close to the case too fast. Detective Lord is ambitious and eager to prove himself; Holloway is older and set in his ways.” Kelly replied with a shrug, “No one was seeing very clearly.”

“I'm glad you got called in on the case.” Tom said, with a brief smile.

“I have the case squared away. You won't have to worry.” Kelly said, confidently.

“You're sure Dirk is going away for it?”

“After I talked with you, I spoke to the other witnesses and Dirk's involvement began to show very clearly. Then, I got the physical report from the hospital. They found urine.” Kelly explained, his tone rigid with disgust, “That little fucker had the audacity to pee on his face, and think we couldn't nail him with the DNA.”

Tom felt a rift of anger slice through his chest, hot and fast. The blood rushed to his neck and face, boiling just beneath the surface. As if the rape wasn't enough . . . He wanted to tear Dirk apart with his bare hands.

“But the reason I really wanted to drive you back to the Ranch was to give you some advice.” Kelly went on without fully noticing Tom's anger, “About Bill.”

“What about him?” Tom asked.

“I'm not a part of the situation, and I probably know very little about the both of you.” Kelly said, “But I know my job. I've observed Bill, Gordon, and you. I know you care a lot about Bill, but Gordon is right in this aspect – he's too young.”

“You're saying he can't love me because he's too young?” Tom asked, defensively.

“I'm saying he's a child.” Kelly replied, gently, “He's a damaged child, at that, struggling to find himself. Gordon is far too protective of what's his to ever let such a relationship last. To take this any further would be to bring unnecessary harm to Bill.”

“I already realized this.” Tom replied, his voice low, “Yesterday, I told Bill we should break it off, and maybe I was right in the most logical sense. But you know that saying 'you don't know what you have until you've lost it'? That's how I feel right now. I've felt what it's like to lose him, and I can't do it again.”

“It's purely your choice.” Kelly said, lifting one hand from the wheel, “But I'd hate to see a repeat of the past two days later down the road because Gordon can't live with the two of you seeing each other.”

Tom shook his head, “I've spent the past six years running, living a miserable, lonely life. I'm tired of it. I've found someone who makes me happy, and I won't let someone like Gordon get in the way.”

After Agent Kelly dropped Tom off at the Ranch, he had every intention of getting in his truck and driving to the hospital where Bill was staying. He was going to get his lover back.

 

 


	30. Presumed Apathy

Bill got the news just as he awoke from a short nap in his hospital bed. When his heavy eyelids fluttered open, he could see through his open room door and into the hallway, where Simone and Gordon spoke to an officer in uniform.

Bill slowly pushed himself upright, cautious of the light-headed feeling he had been experiencing from the drugs being pumped into his body. He strained his ears to hear what the officer was saying to his parents, but couldn't make out much since they were speaking softly.

An FBI agent, a tall blond woman, had already been to the hospital to ask Bill questions. With patches of memory still missing, he hadn't been of much assistance, but she had patted his hand and said she had what she needed. Bill was confused to see the officer outside his room, considering the agent had seemed so adamant about the answers she obtained.

Bill jumped when he heard Gordon raise his voice. The man's face was stained red, and Bill could practically see his stepfather shaking from the hallway.

“I'm going down there right now.” Gordon said, pulling his keys out of his pocket, “This is bullshit.”

“Gordon, honey-” Simone began, trying to grab onto her husbands arm.

“No, don't tell me what to do.” Gordon snapped, pointing a finger in her face, “I didn't fly all the way out here to see this guy slip through the cracks.”

Bill's frown deepened. Gordon was undoubtedly speaking about Tom, which could only mean one thing . . .

Gordon pushed around the police officer and disappeared down the hall. The officer shook Simone's hand, thanked her for her time, and quickly followed Gordon. Bill noticed his mother lift a hand to gently wipe her eyes before turning back to his hospital room.

“Oh, you're awake.” She said, forcing a smile onto her lips.

“Yeah, I just woke up.” Bill said, “What's going on?”

“That officer was from the precinct where they are questioning Tom . . . He's being released.”

Bill slowly laid back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. His heart was in limbo – weightless and numb, like a dead star drifting aimlessly through space.

“I thought you would be . . . happy?” Simone asked softly, taking Bill's hand in her own.

“I don't know.” Bill whispered.

“You two were friends . . . right?” She asked, uneasily.

“Friends.” Bill said, giving a mirthless laugh, “We were never just friends.”

“Bill, honey . . .” Simone whispered, anxiously, “Did you . . . Did he make you . . .?”

“Tom didn't make me do anything.” Bill said, sharply. He pulled his hand out of his mother's grip and rubbed his eyes wearily, “He was the one arguing when I . . .”

Simone took a seat in the chair next his bed, as if she couldn't handle the new information. She was quiet, holding one hand lightly over her mouth.

“No matter what Gordon told you, I really cared about him.” Bill added, quietly, “Maybe even loved him.”

Simone looked up, her eyes wide and watery. Maybe she would never understand, but she had to hear it from him.

“A lot of things have changed now.” Bill whispered, feeling tears choke his throat, “I can't go back and change them. I can't go back to him. What's done is done, and I feel like . . .”

A sob escaped his throat. Forcing himself upright to keep the tears from falling down his temples, he covered his face with both hands.

“I feel like I'm dead.” He whispered into his palms. “Nothing left to give.”

“Oh, Bill.” Simone murmured.

She hurried to his side and put her arms around him. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, hiding his tears and searching for warmth. He had spent years resenting his mother for marrying Gordon, for letting the abuse happen, but right now, she was the only one that seemed to care.

“You're going to be okay.” She whispered, stroking his hair, “You're gonna make it.”

He could only cling to her and hope that she was right.

 

~

 

The last of a gorgeous sunset faded into the grays and blues of nighttime as Simone and Gordon checked Bill out of the hospital. He had enough prescription pills to kill the pain for the next several weeks, and instruction to restrict movement so that his ribs could heal. Physically, he would regain full health in the next six weeks, but that prognosis didn't speak for his battered emotions. Bill wondered when he would stop feeling this way, already halfway to accepting it would be never.

A nurse rolled Bill out of the hospital in a wheelchair to avoid his stitches breaking. Simone walked next to him, a protective hand on his shoulder, while Gordon strode several yards ahead. He was still pissed after his visit from the precinct. All Bill could do was roll his eyes – if being wrong about Tom was the worst thing that had happened to Gordon today, the ungrateful son of a bitch should be happy. He didn't even give a damn that Bill was injured.

Gordon had arranged for a car to be brought to the curb. They would get inside that car, drive to the airport and fly home. Bill would most likely never see Montana – or Tom – again. Deep down inside, there was a well of hurt and a scream of agony at being ripped away from the one person that had loved him unconditionally, but that feeling was only marginal compared to the sense of hollowness and despair. It was over; Tom had been right.

They had just reached the black Lexus parked at the curb when a blue pickup truck squealed into the parking lot. The truck nosed for the curb and lurched to a stop just a few feet away from the Lexus. Everyone watched in shock as the door flew open and Tom jumped out of the truck.

“Bill.” He called, jogging down the sidewalk to where Bill's entourage waited, “Bill, thank God I caught you.”

Ignoring the glares of both Simone and Gordon, Tom dropped to his knees in front of Bill and clutched one of Bill's cold, pale hands in his own.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, his eyes wide and anxious.

Bill stared at him wordlessly. Tears choked his throat, but they refused to meet his eyes.

“Did they tell you?” Tom asked, his voice shaking slightly, “They detained Dirk . . . I'm declared innocent.”

“Yeah.” Bill whispered, his voice light and scratchy.

Tom squeezed his hand tighter, “You knew, right? I would never hurt you, baby.”

“Hey.” Gordon stepped in, his brows furrowed and jaw clamped tight, “I don't care what the police say; you're not allowed to be here.”

“Gordon.” Bill said, darkly, casting a glare at his stepfather, “Lay off for a minute, will you? He's not hurting anything . . . We're never gonna see him again.”

“Bill?” Tom asked, his voice now filled with panic, “Bill, wait.”

“You were right, Tom.” Bill said, quietly, “It's over. I was stupid to think that it would ever work between us.”

“We said we would find away.” Tom insisted, his dark eyes filling with tears, “Bill, please.”

“We said that.” Bill replied, twisting his hand out of Tom's grasp, “But we never really believed it, did we?”

“I believed it.” Tom replied, a tear escaping down his cheek, “I still believe it.”

“You didn't believe it the other night.” Bill said, sharply, “You pushed me away. It's your fault I went into those woods and got hurt.”

Tom's mouth slipped open in shock and horror. He lost his balance momentarily and caught himself with one hand on the pavement. Even with his head bent, Bill could see the tears racing down his cheeks,and more visibly, his shoulders shaking.

“Help me in the car, Mom.” Bill whispered, reaching out a hand for Simone.

Simone's expression was all at once relieved and sad. She cast what could almost be construed as a sympathetic look at Tom before opening the car door. She slipped her arm around Bill and slowly helped him upright.

“Bill, wait.” Tom cried, pushing himself up off the ground, “Please don't do this.”

“It's done.” Bill said, biting off each word, “It's over, Tom. We both have to move on now.”

“I can't move on without you.” Tom whispered, his voice strangled with tears.

He reached up to touch Bill's cheek, but his fingertips barely grazed before he let his hand fall. Bill closed his eyes, pressing that memory – the rough and gentle texture of Tom's fingers against his skin – forever into his mind. It would be the last memory he had of Tom touching him, and he would cling to it until his last breath.

“For what it's worth.” Bill said, slowly opening his eyes, “The last two weeks were the best days of my life. I won't forget it.”

Before Tom could protest, Bill ducked into the car as fast as he could without pulling at his stitches. Simone slammed the door shut behind him, cutting him off from Tom. Gordon and Simone climbed into the front seats, and the engine rumbled to life beneath them.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Bill's last glimpse of Tom was one of the rancher looking after the departing car, his eyes glistening with tears and his expression marked with utter devastation.

 _It's over,_ Bill told himself.

But he knew it would never be over.

 

~

 

_August 30th_

 

_Dirk plead guilty, and maybe I should be happy about that. The trial is done and over with before it even started. I thought I'd see Tom at the hearing, but I guess not. I don't really want to see him because I know it'll bring everything back and I'll probably regret my decision. Oh well, I can't change it now. I hope he's happy._

 

 

~

 

_September 1 st_

 

_Happy birthday to me. I got concert tickets and permission to get a new tattoo from my mom. Nothing from Gordon of course. When I was little, I used to think birthdays were so awesome. Now I hate getting older, and having more years behind me and decisions I regret. I wish I could go back to that stage of being so young and stupid that everything was carefree. I have too many things to remember now, and too many things to worry about. I don't know where I'm going from here, so I guess I'll just concentrate on school and erasing my goddamn annoying memory._

 

_~_

 

_September 7 th_

 

_God, I hate school. It sucks already. Somebody kill me. I can't sleep. Dead tired at school. Don't give a fuck. Someone wake me up when it's over._

 

_~_

 

_September 9 th_

 

_I met this pretty cool kid at school today named Andrej. He dresses like a girl. I think he wants to be trans or something. Anyway, we get along. He sort of understands me, and makes me talk about shit. I actually told him about Tom. I haven't talked about Tom in months, to anyone. Breaking the silence of his name was like breaking a glass on my hand. It hurt, but it was sort of like cleansing. Maybe I can get rid of him for good. Not because I want to. Just because I have to. I hate this feeling of being eaten up inside._

 

_~_

 

_September 12 th_

 

_A night out on the town was pretty successful. I got drunk of my ass, smoked some weed, and got laid. First good fuck since Tom. Of course, no one will ever be that good, but hey, it scratched the itch. Anyway, what am I saying? I had fun. Yeah, not much else to say. Laters_

 

_~_

 

_September 25 th_

 

_Hey Diary, did your realize that today is the three month anniversary of the last day I saw Tom? Yeah, I can't believe it's been that long. Really sucks. I still think about him. Now that I've calmed down and the anger is cleared, I think about that stupid ranch with more clarity. Tom really loved me, and maybe I loved him. It's crazy, but nothing will probably ever compare to what I had with Tom then. I'm here toasting the anniversary with a glass of vodka. It hurts like hell. I miss him._

 

_~_

 

_October 4 th_

 

_I have a confession to make. I've slept with five guys in the past three months. I feel like a slut, but hell, I need to get the release. Sex is cool, but forgetting completely is better. Just have to make sure none of them look like him, especially since none of them will ever compare._

 

_~_

 

_October 12 th _

 

_I just wish someone would love me for me._

 

_~_

 

_October 21 st _

 

_You have no idea how many times I've just considered ending it all. I just want the pain, memories, regret to be over. I feel so empty and unloved all the time. I don't have anyone who is really there for me. I feel all alone._

_Gordon has gotten worse. He hit my mom. I really fucking hate him, but I think things will be over soon._

 

_~_

 

_November 3 rd _

 

_I have got to get over this. I can't handle the sleepless nights and the empty sex. I have got to find a way to shut it off. I can't live the rest of my life like this. Its like I have him under my skin, eating away at my heart, always in the back of my mind. No matter what I do, it won't go away. I don't still love him – I can't. They say he killed his own fucking kid. That's crazy. And he put me in a position to get hurt. I should hate him. I really should. But I don't, and sometimes I feel like I'm never going to forget. It'll be forever playing in my head like a movie, until the day I'm dead. Then he'll eat my bones too._

 

~

 

Looking at the soft glow of the moon, barely sheathed in powdery clouds, Tom mentally checked off another day on the calendar. Another day gone – another day of fighting the sadness and running his mind wearing thinking about Bill.

They had only spent two and a half weeks together, but those had been perhaps the most profound weeks of Tom's life. He had found meaning and peace again; and for a few fragile, faltering moments, he had really thought he could be happy with Bill for the rest of his life.

In the days following Bill's departure, Tom had placed a dozen calls to Bill's cell phone, and even wrote a letter, hoping his plea would reach Bill. All the calls went to voicemail, and his letter was never answered. It was as if Bill had never existed; or simply existed as a figment of Tom's imagination. He was never coming back.

Tom looked up when the front door of the main house opened, and Natalie emerged, carrying two steaming cups.

“It's getting cold out.” She noted as she sat down on the porch step next to him, “But if you're not coming in, here's some hot chocolate.”

“Thank you.” Tom smiled, briefly, and took the frothing cup of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

Natalie drew her sweater tighter around her waist and leaned closer to generate body heat against the night time air. She joined him in gazing at the clouded moon for several long minutes before she cleared her throat.

“I've lost people, Tom.” She whispered, glancing up at him, “I know how it feels.”

Tom sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. Natalie was intent on being his counselor through this trauma, just like last time. But somehow, Tom wasn't interested in talking about it. In a way, he felt ashamed. He had lost Bill because of his own foolish pride, and in doing so, exposed himself to the whole ranch. His position hadn't changed, but the sideways glances surely had. He wanted to hide his wounds as deep within his scarred chest as he could, and lick them whole with his own touch.

“I just want to help.” Natalie said, with a disappointed sigh, “We've been friends for so long. I wish you would talk to me.”

“It's been three months.” Tom replied, shaking his head, “I'm getting past it, Nati. I'm fine; trust me.”

“No you're not.” She replied, disbelieving, “You can't lie to me, Tom.”

“You don't understand. Not this time.” Tom replied, perhaps a bit too stridently.

“I know what it's like to lose people.” Natalie contradicted.

“Not like this.” Tom muttered, clutching his mug tighter, “Not by your own doing. Not because of your own stupid, fucking pride.”

“Tom . . . .” Natalie murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I could have told him everything.” Tom replied, his eyes growing misty, “And he would have loved me through it. That's the worst thing. It wasn't that I was afraid he would change his mind; I was just afraid. I couldn't let go of it . . . Of her.”

“You can't blame yourself.” Natalie replied, sadly.

“I can, and I will.” Tom whispered, harshly, “For the rest of my life.”

“Bill is so young. Maybe when he gets a little older, he'll understand; maybe you will see him again.” Natalie suggested, hopefully.

“He's gone.” Tom shook his head, “I betrayed his trust just like everyone else in his life; he has no reason to come back.”

Weary of the conversation, Tom set his mug down on the step up and rose to his feet.

“It's late. We should both get some sleep.” He suggested, forcing a slight smile on his lips.

Natalie nodded quietly. She picked up both mugs and turned to walk up the stairs.

Tom frowned deeply as he felt his stomach drop lower with disappointment. He knew Natalie just wanted to help, and it was true she had been there for him so many times before. They used to be able to talk for hours about the things troubling them. Tom's barriers were growing higher by the day, and somehow the loss of a friendship didn't bother him as deeply as it should – and that fact bothered him more.

“Hey, Tom.” Natalie called softly.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning slowly.

“What's a better reason than love?” She asked with a small, tender smile.

“Right.” Tom murmured, dropping his gaze to the ground.

The knife in his chest twisted a little deeper, realizing he was at the point where he began to wonder if that love had even existed . . .

“'Night, Natalie.” He said, without looking up.

He took off at a quick stride across the yard, yearning for the solitude of his cabin. There were reminders of Bill everywhere in that cabin, and it was a bit of punishment that he fully accepted. It was lonely and empty, just as his aching soul preferred it.

Tom went through the motions of changing out of his work clothes and brushing his teeth before bed. Another day gone, that was just as the day before; the same actions, the same pain, the same regret. He couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel yet.

As Tom was drawing the curtains shut, he noticed the moon hanging low and large in the night sky, gleaming it's gentle, pewter light. He thought Bill might be seeing that moon too, that just maybe, he was missing Tom the way Tom was missing him. It was an unlikely, but lovely fantasy Tom entertained for a single, gratifying moment, before pulling the curtains over the peaceful image. Like he had told Natalie, Bill was gone, and he wasn't coming back. If love were the only reason, Tom supposed he would be spending the rest of his life in this self-appointed purgatory of sadness and regret.

 


	31. Ambivalence

Bill could feel the sweat clinging to his back and shirt and his heart throbbing in sync with the bass pounding through the club. Strobe lights blinded his upturned eyes as he swayed amongst the press of bodies surrounding him. He could almost get lost in the sea of dancers, and forget who he was. That reason was why partying had become one of his favorite past times since graduation.

Raising his arms over his head, Bill undulated his hips against the bodies rubbing on every side. He glanced around, picking through the faces in the dimly lit club, considering picking out a date for the night. He prided himself in being able to take home anyone, at any time, from any place, but sometimes, it was a matter of being in the right mood. Tonight, he wasn't quite high or drunk enough to pick out the first good-looking face.

“Hey, Bill, looking fine.”

Bill glanced over to see Andreja shouldering her way through the crowd. After graduation, his only friend in the highschool had undergone sex reassignment surgery. The blond-haired, blue-eyed angel was now a girl, as she had always wanted to be. Bill was happy for her, but also jealous – he wished one surgery could fix all the insecurities he had about life.

“Hey,” Bill said, sliding through the crowd to grasp Andreja's hips, “You look beautiful.”

Andreja blushed and rolled her eyes, “Oh, stop. Unless you're going to fuck me.”

“You know I don't swing that way.” Bill smiled charmingly as he continued to dance up against his friend, “But I love to dance. Come on.”

“I just came to drink.” Andreja shook her head, “You know I don't dance.”

“Ugh, have it your way. Let's go drink.” Bill complained. He narrowed his eyes and added in a strict tone, “But only because I love you.”

Andreja giggled and grabbed his hand. She led him through the undulating mass of bodies until they reached the stairs that led up to the bar.

“Hey, Geo.” Andreja gushed as she sidled up to the bar.

Georg, the bar tender, flashed Andreja his Hollywood grin, “Hey there, sweet thing.”

“The usual for us both.” Andreja said, twirling her finger between herself and Bill, “I am getting Billy here rip-roaring drunk tonight.”

“Is that so?” Georg asked with a chuckle as he poured them out shots.

Bill shrugged, “You know you can't argue with a woman, Geo.”

“Especially one so beautiful.” Georg winked at Andreja.

“You guys.” Andreja squirmed in her seat, turning bright pink, “Stop, unless we're going to have a menage a trois.”

Bill and Georg laughed loudly at Andreja's expense.

“Okay, guys, really. I'm here to get drunk.” Andreja said, grabbing her shot glass.

“Okay, on three.” Bill said, picking up his own shot, “One . . .”

“Two.” Andreja supplied with a mischievous grin.

“Three.” They said in unison.

Slamming their shots back, they both swallowed hard and came back up breathing hard. Bill shook his head as the alcohol immediately dove into his bloodstream, giving him a spike of adrenaline. Thanks to Andreja, he was beginning to lean more toward getting shit-faced than laid tonight. He just wasn't in the mood to put on the flirtatious, seductive face that reeled all the guys in like hooked fish. Sometimes it was just too much work.

“Another.” Andreja requested dramatically, sliding her shot glass to Georg.

“Guys, I'd really like to join you,” Georg said, “but I have other customers to attend to, so here's the bottle.”

He slid the bottle across the bar until it sat between Bill and Andreja, alcohol glistening and waiting to be drunk.

“Thanks, Geo.” Bill said with a wave of his hand.

The handsome bartender shot them a smile and disappeared to take care of other customers. Andreja grabbed the bottle and poured out another shot for each of them. They took the shots fast, leaving Andreja grinning and flushed. She frowned when Bill gave a lackluster response to the alcohol.

“What's up with you?”

“Nothing.” Bill sighed, toying with his shot glass.

“Don't lie to me.” Andreja replied, reaching over to punch him lightly in the arm.

“You know . . . What it always is.” Bill replied, dully.

“Gordon?” Andreja asked, with a note of distaste.

“I want out of that house so bad.” Bill scowled. “I'm eighteen, and I want to leave – Gordon just won't give me the money.”

“You have to find a job then. Like I did.” Andreja replied, “McDonalds isn't so bad.”

“Fuck McDonalds.” Bill muttered, darkly, “Gordon is sitting on enough money to last a lifetime.”

“He's never going to give it to you.” Andreja said quietly. She shook her head in disbelief, “You guys have never gotten along, and you never will. You're going to have to do it without him.”

“Oh, and another reason I don't want to leave.” Bill said, holding up a finger, “He hit my mom the other day. Again.”

“What?” Andreja asked, her mouth sliding open, “I thought you said they worked things out.”

“Worked things out from the last argument.” Bill said, throwing up his hands, “It's always something . . . Ever since that stupid, fucking trip.”

“To Montana?” Andreja asked softly.

“Yeah. That one.” Bill replied, bitterly, “She stood up for me after we got home. I was hurt, and I think it finally made her realize she needed to protect me. It pissed him off. Ever since, he's been going after her, more than me.”

“When was the last time he . . . that you . . .?”

“The last time he beat me up?” Bill asked, sharply. He grabbed the bottle and splashed his glass full, “Weeks. I stand up to him now, Andreja. I don't let anyone push me around.”

Andreja nodded slowly, “Sorry, Bill.”

She watched with sympathetic eyes as he took the shot quickly and slammed the glass back down with more force than necessary.

“Don't be.” Bill shrugged, forcing back the emotion behind a frosty exterior, “It's my shitty life. I have to deal with it.”

“You're going to get out of there, someday.” Andreja said, firmly. She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it warmly, “You're going to leave Gordon behind and you're going to be better than him.”

Bill glanced at her with misty eyes, “You know, someone told me that once.”

Andreja's big, blue eyes blinked softly, “They did?”

“Yeah.” Bill replied, huskily, “He said, 'Do whatever you want with your life, and you'll be happy.'” Shaking his head, Bill gave a low snort, “I do whatever I want, and I'm still not happy. I'm only happy when I'm wasted or getting fucked.”

“Tom said that, didn't he?” Andreja asked, straightforwardly.

Bill quickly dashed a tear out of his eyes and sniffed quietly, “So what if he did? It doesn't matter anymore. I'm never going to see him again.”

“That is purely up to you.” Andreja boldly reminded him.

“I'm not going back there.” Bill said, “I can't.”

“As your friend, I am obligated to tell you the truth.” Andreja said, leaning closer to Bill's steely, pained expression, “And I have watched you spiral lower and lower, ever since you came back from that trip. It's not getting better, Bill, it's getting worse. You have told me all about that trip, and your time with Tom, and I can tell you for a fact – he loved you, Bill. He loved you more than anyone else in your life, and I think you really loved him. Now, I can't tell you to go back to him because that's your choice, but I can tell you that you can't leave someone behind that you still love. It just doesn't work like that.”

Bill was quiet for several moments, staring into the bottom of his shot glass and watching barely contained tears swim in his vision. He knew Andreja was right. He had known before she even said it. But he simply didn't have the courage to go back. He was scared; he wasn't afraid to admit that.

“Andreja,” Bill said with a low sigh.

“Yes?”

“Can we just get drunk?”

Andreja pursed her lips and quietly shook her head. He could feel the disapproval rolling off her in waves, but he didn't care. Tonight, he just wanted to forget.

“Sure.” She said, at last.

Pouring out two more shots, she slid his glass to him, “Drink up.”

 

~

 

Bill wasn't quite sure how much time had passed; he could only count the hours in how many drinks he had taken tonight. His head was swimming, his legs felt uselessly heavy, and he was slightly giddy. He also felt slightly sick.

“I'm going to the bathroom.” He heard Andreja say.

“'kay . . .” He managed to mumble.

He watched with slight amusement as Andreja rose from her barstool and teetered to the bathroom in her high heels. She was so fucking drunk, it made him laugh out loud.

“Hey, Bill.” Georg said, approaching the bar, “Need a ride home tonight, buddy?”

Bill smiled, watching his friend with barely open eyes, “Maybe . . .”

“When I gave you the bottle, I didn't expect you to drink it all in two hours.” Georg chuckled.

Bill slapped his hand on the bar and doubled over in wheezing laughter, “Geo . . .you f-funny . . .”

“God, you are plastered.” Georg said, shaking his head.

“You gave me . . . and And-Andreja, the whole fuckin' bottle . . . And expected us not to drink it all.” Bill laughed in his throat, “You're fuckin' funny, G-Geo.”

“I think it's the last call for you.” Georg said, as Bill swiped for the last remnants of the bottle.

“Hey.” Bill protested.

“You're as drunk as you can get.” Georg said, “You don't need anymore.”

“I'm . . . I'm fine . . .” Bill muttered, his protest tapering off as he felt a tide of nausea roll through his stomach, “Ohh . . .ugh . ..”

“Dude, get out of here before you get sick.” Georg said, pointing a finger at the restroom, “I don't want to clean up your vomit.”

“Mmm.” Bill moaned, holding a hand over his stomach, and feeling as if he were about to vomit the entire contents of his stomach, “'kay . . . Chill out, Geo.”

“I'm serious.” Georg said, waving a hand to shoo Bill away.

Bill rose slowly from the bar stool and felt the floor tilt underneath him. He grabbed at the edge of the counter, barely catching himself before he fell. Georg shook his head. Crossing his arms, he leaned back to watch Bill stumble drunkenly out of the bar.

Bill swayed on his feet as he pushed away from the counter. He dragged his drunken body toward the door, at a slow but steady pace. Each foot felt like it weighed as much as a bowling ball, and each step seemed to take a whole minute to complete. The room stretched to infinity before reaching the door, and he wondered if he would make it before he passed out or puked.

When he finally reached the front door, he staggered out into the cool night air. The breeze cooled his sweating, flushed face and shivering body, but not enough to quell the nausea. He fell to this knees, vomiting violently onto the asphalt. His long, free hair gathered around his cheeks, most likely catching some of the vomit. His clothes were being spattered by the merciless retching, but he didn't have the presence of mind to care. All he could care about was vomiting enough to get some of the alcohol out of his overloaded system.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?”

Bill swiped a hand through his hair to tug the long, thick strands away from his sweat and vomit stained face. Through bleary eyes, he barely made out the figure of a tall, dark haired man rushing to his side.

Bill mumbled something of an affirmative, just as he as his world began to tunnel at the corners. A pair of strong, warm hands grasped his shoulders, trying to keep him upright. Bill felt his body tilt, and the ringing in his ears exacerbate before everything went dark. He slumped in the strangers arms, weary and unconscious.

 

~

 

His world slowly brightened, in tiny, fragmented pieces. His head was thick and pounding. His body was weak and shivering all over.

But there was a gentle hand smoothing his hair back, and a voice calling him back to reality.

He barely managed to open his heavy eyelids to get a glimpse of the stranger who had come to his rescue. The man had dark, concerned eyes and full lips. His jaw was covered in light stubble, and his hair was drawn back in a loose bun.

Bill was hardly lucid, but his subconscious provided the hopeful plea before his alcohol soaked mind could consider the impossibility.

“Tom?”

 

~

 

The next time Bill opened his eyes, he found himself lying in an unfamiliar bed. Morning light was creeping through the drawn curtains, and he could hear birds singing cheerfully.

“Hmm?” He muttered, confused.

Rolling over, he blinked his eyes open and glanced around the room. He took in posters of fashion models and exotic locations, and the vanity covered in an arrangement of makeup and lipstick tubes across the room.

“Hey, Bill.” Andreja said from the fluffy, pink bean bag chair sitting on the floor next to him.

“Ugh . . .What happened?” Bill moaned, holding a hand over his throbbing forehead.

“You got super drunk last night.” Andreja replied, “When I went outside to look for you, I found some guy holding your hair.”

“Oh my god.” Bill exclaimed, sitting up quickly.

He immediately regretted the rapid motion, and sank back to the pillow, holding his head as pain stabbed through his temples.

“What?” Andreja asked.

“That guy.” Bill whispered into the pillow, “Who was he?”

“Okay, here, take some medicine.” Andreja said, shoving a glass of water and a handful of Advil into his palms.

Bill pushed himself up on one elbow and slowly drank down the pills and water. His mouth tasted awful, but the fresh, cold water cut wonderfully through the dryness.

“God, I feel stupid.” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, “I haven't gotten that drunk in a long time.”

“Well, it was probably my fault . . . for bringing up Tom.” Andreja replied, lowering her head.

“No, don't feel bad.” Bill sighed, flopping back against the pillows, “I've been getting drunk long enough to know when to stop.”

“Here's a cigarette.” Andreja offered, pressing the cigarette between his fingers.

Bill gratefully accepted the cigarette and leaned over the edge of the bed to let Andreja light the tip. He breathed in the familiar taste and rush of nicotine and closed his eyes when he felt immediate relief. There was nothing like a good cigarette to chase away a hangover.

“You are a mess.” Andreja murmured softly.

“I know.” Bill replied, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, “I probably have like twenty voicemails from my mom.”

“It's been going off all morning.” Andreja replied, motioning to his phone, which sat on her vanity, “Do you want to answer it?”

Bill groaned at the the thought, “Not yet.”

“Okay.” Andreja said, rising from the bean bag chair, “And now that you're awake and functioning, I have this for you as well.”

She grabbed a small, paper card from the vanity and handed it to him. She was holding back a smile, which caused Bill to frown.

“What is this?” He asked, taking the card.

“That guy who held your hair last night.” Andreja replied.

Bill glanced down at the card, which read:

 

DAMIAN LONDON

Photographer

London Studios, Inc.

1245 North High Street, Los Angeles

Art, Portraits, Fashion, Original Work

 

“This is the guy that found me puking my guts out?” Bill asked, both in awe and horrified by the prospect.

Andreja nodded, “He gave that to me when he handed you over. He's super nice, super cute, and let me tell you, Bill – he smells amazing.”

“Wait,” Bill said, struggling to sit upright, “Why did he give this to you?”

“That's the disappointing thing – sort of . . .” Andreja said, making a face, “He said he wanted to photograph you . . . Although, I'm hoping if you put a good word in, he might also want to do me-”

“He wants to photograph me?” Bill asked, slowly, “After seeing me completely hammered, with vomit all over my face and clothes?”

Andreja laughed lightly, “I guess he can see through bullshit.”

Bill glanced down the card, suddenly flattered. In the past year, he hadn't slept with anyone who didn't first see him dressed up in his most flamboyant outfit and wearing a layer of makeup. Now, this photographer, who had never even met before, wanted to take pictures of Bill, after seeing him at his worst.

Bill shook his head and dropped the card to his lap, “I called him Tom.”

“What?” Andreja asked, startled.

“I called him Tom . . . He looks like Tom.” Bill replied, flustered, “God, I can't go talk to this guy without explaining who Tom is . . .”

“All you have to do is say he's your ex.” Andreja replied, rolling her eyes, “You were smashed, Bill. He's not gonna care.”

“Tom isn't my ex.” Bill replied, sharply.

A frown flickered across Andreja's brow and she poised her hands on her hips, “Then what is he?”

“He's my . . . He's . . .” Bill waved a hand in disgust, “He's not anything. He's the guy I fucked for two weeks, and left behind without so much as a goodbye.”

“Bill . . .” Andreja sighed.

“Your ex is the person you had a lasting relationship with; the person you hate now because it's over.” Bill added, “My time with Tom was so short, I don't even know what it was. And I definitely don't hate him. I just . . . He made me vulnerable, Andreja. That scares me.”

Andreja sat down on the bed next to Bill and rubbed a hand over his back, “It's okay, baby. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It's fine.” Bill muttered. Drawing in a deep breath, he plucked the business card from the sheets and turned it toward Andreja, “I should go see this guy, right?”

Andreja smiled and nudged him in the side, “If some totally hot, classy looking guy asked to photograph me, I would be all over that shit.”

“Okay.” Bill chuckled, “And I should probably thank him for keeping me from drowning in my own vomit.”

“Eww, don't say it like that. You have to say it sexier than that.” Andreja cackled, “He's so hot, Bill. You have to take a shot at this guy.”

“He's probably straight. Just my luck.” Bill replied, grimly.

“You don't know that . . . But if he is, give him my number.” Andreja replied, giggling and wrapping her long arms around Bill's waist, “Please?”

“Okay, okay.” Bill laughed, returning the hug, “I will.”

“You should probably call your mom.” Andreja said, glancing over her shoulder at the clock, “It's almost two o'clock.”

“In the afternoon?” Bill moaned, “She's gonna kill me.”

Andreja got up and grabbed his phone from the vanity. Clicking the screen on, she reported, “Not quite twenty voice mails. Try four missed calls, and three voice mails.”

“Give it to me.” Bill sighed, holding out his hand.

Andreja slapped the phone into his palm and ruffled his hair, “Don't worry. It's only one night. She'll get over it.”

“Yeah, right.” Bill snorted.

“Hey, I'm gonna go cook us some breakfast.” Andreja said, heading for the door, “Come out whenever you're ready.”

“Okay.” Bill called after her.

With a weary sigh, Bill dialed his mother's phone number and leaned back against the pillows. He flipped Damian London's business card through his fingers as he listened to the phone ring, and considered calling the number on the card next. It seemed like a chance, maybe a job to get him out of his parents house; and if the guy was as hot as Andreja claimed, he had to look further.

 

 


	32. Expectation

A tiny bell above the door jingled as Bill stepped over the threshold of London Studios, Inc. The interior of the lobby was comfortably air conditioned and scented with some type of pleasant, subtle lavender freshener. Hunter green carpeting stretched cleanly to the front desk, and several gorgeous art photographs hung on the beige walls.

When Bill approached the front desk, a young lady with waist-length black hair and perfectly applied red lipstick greeted him with a white smile, “Hi, how can I help you?”

“I'm Bill Trumper.” Bill said with a polite smile, “I made an appointment with Mr. London.”

The girl's eyes brightened and she smiled mischievously, “Wonderful. He's been asking since morning if you'd come in yet.”

“Really?” Bill asked, laughing weakly.

“Mr. London get's very excited about his muses.” She replied, reaching for the telephone. She cradled the receiver between her shoulder and ear as she tapped a few keys on her computer, “Bill Trumper is here to see you, Damian . . . Yeah, right in front of me . . . Okay, I'll send him right in.”

She set the phone down and turned back to Bill, “You can go right in. It's the first door on the left, down that hall.”

“Okay, thank you.” Bill whispered.

He stared at his black, wedge boots as he started off down the hallway. Ever since he had made the appointment two days ago, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about this opportunity. His luck was two-fold – modeling for Mr. London could be a source of income, and pursuing the photographer as Andreja suggested could make them more than business partners. Bill was almost too nervous to even consider that second option. He usually wasn't intimidated by a new prospect, but this man had left an impact by his simple generosity and interest. Bill couldn't focus on just getting the photographer in bed, after he had shown such kindness. But Bill hadn't seriously dated anyone in almost two years, and the prospect was terrifying as it was exciting.

Bill reached the door on the left and hesitated for a moment before knocking. For a moment, he almost panicked and ran back to the exit. What if he hadn't worn the right outfit? Too much makeup? Not enough? Maybe he should have worn something lighter instead of all black?

 _Stop._ He ordered himself, at last, _Just go in. The worst that could happen is that you embarrass the shit out of yourself and never come back here._

Mr. London's reply was quick when Bill managed to render a light knock on the door. Bill eased the door open and stepped inside.

When he laid eyes – real clear, sober eyes – on Damian London, he felt his whole body rupture into chaos. His heart pounded wildly, his legs began to shake, and he thought he might vomit for a terrifying second.

The man was beautiful. Not just sexy, or fuckable – but beautiful. His skin was a perfect olive tone that matched mocha brown eyes and thick, black hair that curled stubbornly against a ponytail at his nape. Though sitting down, Bill could tell that he was rather tall and broad in structure, with wide shoulders and a tapered waist. The cream suit jacket and pants he wore over a silk, black shirt contrasted against his skin and complimented the thick, gold jewelery around his neck and wrists.

Bill choked on his words as the door slid shut behind him, sealing his fate.

“Bill,” Damian said with a warm smile, that revealed dimples under his stubble, “So nice to see you again.”

Bill stumbled forward and shook the man's outstretched hand, “Hello.”

“God.” Damian said, not releasing Bill's hand. His eyes were intense and searing as he gazed into Bill's face, “You are beautiful. I must photograph you.”

“I . . .um . . .” Bill stuttered, dumbly. He dropped his gaze to the ground, berating himself with a string of curses.

“I'm sorry.” Damian laughed, “I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm usually not like this.”

“Me either.” Bill laughed, breathlessly.

“I'm sorry, let me start over in a more professional manner.” Damian suggested, motioning to the chair in front of his desk, “Please, take a seat.”

Bill gratefully took a seat, giving his wobbling knees some relief. Damian rushed around his desk and sat down.

“I trust your friend gave you my message.” Damian said, trying to contain his smile like a child on Christmas.

“Yeah, she did.” Bill nodded, “I'm really interested.”

“Really?” Damian brows rose eagerly.

“Yeah, I'm kind of in need of a job right now.” Bill chuckled anxiously, “And I think it would be a good learning experience.”

“Wait . . .” Damian held up a hand, “You've never modeled before?”

“No.”

Damian's eyes grew wider, “You have got to be kidding me. I mean, look at your face, your bone structure. And your height! I mean, your legs have got to be . . .” He stuttered to a halt and blushed deeply, “I'm sorry, that must sound awfully unprofessional.”

“No, it's fine.” Bill waved a hand.

Deep down, he could feel his heart flutter and his stomach begin to twirl with butterflies. He could care less how inappropriate that last comment might have been; he was flattered that this gorgeous, rich, professional man was so interested in him.

“Then we have to get you in front of the camera.” Damian said with a charming smile, “My camera, preferably. Would you like to read through the handbook? It details all of our rules on professionalism, payment, sexual harassment clauses . . .”

“I don't think I need to read through all of that, do I?” Bill asked, leaning forward with his own clever smile, “It looks like you could pay me enough and . . . I don't have to worry about sexual harassment at all – right?”

Damian blinked, struck speechless for a moment by Bill's unmistakable flirting.

Bill smiled, more at ease in his own element.

“Um, no.” Damian said at last, “Of course not. This is a very professional, stress-free environment. I promise complete comfort and ease.”

“Sounds fantastic then.” Bill said, with a wave of his hand, “Where do I sign?”

“That's it?” Damian asked, his tone rising in disbelief.

“Yeah, don't I have to sign a contract or something?”

“Yes, but, uh . . . Usually models take the time to look over it and tweak anything they don't want in the contract.”

“Mr. London-”

“Damian, please.”

“Damian.” Bill echoed slowly, as if tasting the name, “I am going nowhere as of now. I've been graduated for nearly two years now, and I haven't gone to college or decided what the hell I want to do with my life. My step dad is rich as God, but he won't give me money for anything, so I really need a job. This seems like the best choice right now. I don't need to think about anything.”

Damian was quiet for a moment, processing Bill's statement. At last, he pulled a folder out of the right hand drawer and slid it across the desk, “Here's the contract. Sign it now and we can get started. As a personal favor, I will amend any of the clauses necessary later on, and disregard what you have already agreed to in this original contract.”

“All right.” Bill said, smiling brightly, “Give me a pen. Let's make some art together.”

 

~

 

“Can you tilt your chin to the left just a bit, Bill . . . Yes, good, perfect. Hold it.”

The sound of the camera shutter clicking repeatedly filled the otherwise silence of the room. Damian circled Bill's pose, taking a dozen shots of every angle while Bill sat as still as a statue on the simple, black bar stool.

He was wearing leather harlem pants, a white, fluffy fur jacket, and a giant feather on top of his head, while his feet sat poised on the rungs in a pair of Christian Loubiton heels. With the black backdrop and the lights positioned around him, he felt like a true model – a goddess. The rhythmic flow of Damian's instructions and praises flowed against his ears and ruptured little bursts of pleasure through his entire body in constant streams.

He had been posing for nearly two hours now, but the time slipped away into bare seconds that Bill could hard grasp as reality. His time with London Studios, Inc amounted to three scarce weeks, making him an amateur by anyone's standards, but Damian was already making him feel like a legitimate model.

“God, Bill, you were born for this.” Damian said, taking a step back.

Bill broke his pose and grinned brightly, “Thank you.”

Damian ran a hand through his loose, shoulder length hair and dropped his camera against his chest, “I have to get you in a magazine.”

“I just started.” Bill replied.

“As soon as those magazine execs see your face, they will want you on their covers.” Damian promised. He reached out a hand and lightly touched Bill's cheek, “Yours is a face of art and gods.”

Bill ducked his head, blushing profusely. No one spoke to him the way Damian did, weaving praises and poetry together into a continual song about only Bill. No one could flatter him this way, make him blush and stammer this way. Even though they had only known each other for three short weeks, Bill could sense the glimmer of a deeper connection. When Damian looked at him, he felt a current of something like electricity go through his body – and it made him long for more.

“Well, we've been shooting for two hours.” Damian said, glancing down at his camera, “We have some good shots here, but you must be tired.”

“And hungry.” Bill added, kicking his heels off and rising from the stool.

“All right, it's only fair I take you to dinner since I've kept you so long.” Damian replied with a winning smile, “How about it?”

“Of course.” Bill replied, trying not to sound too eager.

“Okay, go ahead and change and wash up, and I'll be waiting with the car.” Damian said, “I'm going to send some of my favorite shots to be printed and sent into some of our magazines.”

“Really?” Bill asked, feeling a spike of excitement in his chest.

“I think it's time the world saw you.” Damian replied, winking at Bill.

Bill walked to the bathroom in a daze. Gazing in the mirror, he studied his made up face and the fashion outfit he wore, trying to make sense of dream and reality. For the past three weeks, he had been dreaming of having his pictures in some big, fancy magazine. He was already making big bucks, but money wasn't his biggest concern. He simply wanted to make a name for himself, to prove to Gordon and his mother that he could succeed and be anyone he wanted. He wanted to break free, and he knew Damian was the key.

Bill changed back into his street clothes and washed all the make up off his face. When he stepped out of the studio, the sky was faintly glowing with the end of a glorious sunset and the shadows of night crept in at the edges. Damian's Ferrari purred at the curb, awaiting Bill's arrival.

Bill rushed down the steps and pulled the car door open. Ducking inside, he found Damian behind the wheel, flashing that beautiful smile that made Bill's knees go weak.

“Where to?” Damian asked as Bill strapped in.

“Wherever is fine.” Bill said, waving his hand.

“No, pick what you want.” Damian insisted.

Bill pursed his lips to conceal a smile, “Okay. . .”

“I'm taking you out, Bill. It's your choice.” Damian encouraged, reaching over to squeeze Bill's knee lightly.

Bill felt his heart rate pick up and all the blood rush to his face. Damian's hand was warm, and his grip firm, in a way that made Bill crave a longer touch.

“I like Chinese.” He murmured, weakly.

“All right. I know a place.” Damian said, putting his hand back on the wheel.

He pulled away from the curb and directed the car into town where the neon lights of the shops were beginning to glow with nightlife. Damian drove for only about ten minutes before pulling to a stop in front of Pong-Yu's Buffet.

“The sushi here is spectacular.” Damian informed as they got out of the car, “You are going to be stuffed by the time we leave.”

Inside the buffet, the scent of freshly cooked food and spices wafted into Bill's nostrils to entice his already growling stomach. He was relieved when they were quickly seated and given menus. When the waitress arrived, Bill ordered sweet and sour pork with stir fry over rice and a side of sushi. Damian ordered Peking roasted duck with a side of egg drop soup and sushi.

When the waitress was gone, Damian folded his arms on top of the table and leaned forward.

“So we've been working together for three weeks now, but I don't know much about you personally. Quid pro quo?”

“All right.” Bill agreed, “I was born in New York, but after my mom married Gordon, we moved to L.A.”

“Hmm.” Damian hummed, “All right. I was born in Dubai, Africa. My father was a wildlife photographer and my mother helped teach English at the local university.”

“Wow.” Bill said, raising his eyebrows, “That's cool. Do you know the language?”

“I recall very little.” Damian replied, “We moved when I was ten and didn't stop moving until I came back to the States for college. We ran into some financial trouble, but eventually my father was able to get things back on track. He still lives in Africa today.”

“Sounds like you've been everywhere.” Bill noted with a faint smile.

“Yes, and seen many people and cultures – but none quite as fascinating and beautiful as you, Bill.” Damian said, somberly, leaning farther across the table to gaze directly into Bill's eyes.

Bill felt the heat crawl up his neck and a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and groan escape his lips. Damian's eyes practically pinned him to the chair, delving heat to his core and making him want to squirm and escape.

“Okay, my turn I guess.” Bill choked out.

“Right.” Damian agreed, sitting back in his chair.

“When I was younger, I was really into classic metal.” Bill revealed, “I dressed kind of goth. My style has obviously reformed.” He motioned to his form-fitting pants, silk shirt and the scarf tied in an elaborate bow around his neck.

“Really?” Damian chuckled, “You were a little rebel.”

“I was.” Bill nodded, slowly, “I was a brat, really. I did everything I could to make my parents mad or to defy them. I'd like to think I've matured a little.”

“Well, how long ago was that?” Damian asked.

“Two or three years ago.” Bill shrugged, “Not really very long in the whole scope of things, but a lot has happened since then.”

“I was into indie music.” Damian laughed, “Now I listen to classical music when I'm photographing because it makes me calm and focused.”

“You don't like any real music?” Bill asked, scrunching his nose in distaste.

“I do.” Damian replied, “But it's not as important to me as my art so it's not a priority.”

“Music helped me a lot, so I guess I can't understand.” Bill shrugged.

“Helped you?”

“Get through stuff.” Bill replied, “I had some . . . stuff happen when I was a kid.”

“Okay.” Damian said, softly, “I won't make you say more if you don't want to.”

“It's okay.” Bill waved a hand, “I'm through it . . .I just . . . Never mind.”

“Okay.” Damian repeated, his brows furrowing in concern.

“Next fact.” Bill suggested, plastering a smile on his face.

“Sure.” Damian agreed.

Bill went on about high school pranks, favorite movies, vacations with his parents, and Andreja, but avoided every topic that might pull a string that led back to Tom or Anis. He wasn't ready to share those parts of himself with Damian, even if Damian did seem trustworthy and understanding. It disconcerted Bill to no end that he had known Damian for three weeks – much longer than he had ever known Tom – and he didn't have a percentage of the trust he'd once had in Tom for Damian to share his darkest secrets.

He just wanted to be happy and in love again – but it seemed as if Tom's memory would never let him go. It had been two goddamn years. When would Tom's face, his voice and touch, ever leave Bill's dreams completely? When would the shadow of that great love ever lessen enough for Bill to enjoy a fulfilling relationship with someone else?

By the time they had finished eating, Bill had learned a myriad of things about Damian – that he had played croquet in university, spent a few nights in jail for an elaborate prank with friends, and enjoyed fishing of all things – but his heart and stomach hadn't settled to the warm, fuzzy feeling Damian usually gave him. That moment of almost revealing his secrets hung over the dinner with an intensity he couldn't shake.

Damian paid the bill and laid down a generous tip before leading Bill out the door.

“I can drive you back to your place.” Damian suggested with a smile.

“You better not.” Bill sighed as they climbed into the car, “Gordon would have a fit.”

“His opinion shouldn't matter.” Damian said, shaking his head.

“I still live in his house.” Bill sighed, “Until I can save up enough money, I have to not rock the boat at home.”

“Okay.” Damian said, though he hardly sounded convinced.

“You don't understand, okay?” Bill said, sharply, “It's just better not to piss him off.”

Damian was frowning as they pulled away from the curb and back into the flow of traffic.

“Sorry.” Bill murmured, staring at his lap, “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“No, it's okay. I don't understand the full situation so I shouldn't judge.” Damian replied, quietly.

“I'd rather deal with his shit for a few more weeks than piss him off and hear about it twenty-four seven.” Bill grumbled, sinking lower in his seat.

“Okay, we'll have to get you out of there A.S.A.P.” Damian said, smiling over at Bill, “I'll help you.”

“Thanks, but this is something I'm going to do myself.” Bill replied, toying anxiously with the end of his scarf, “I've been telling them for months that I'm going to move out so they can't tell me what to do anymore, but I feel like they just sit back watching, waiting for me to fail. I want to walk out of there with my head held high and something good to look forward to. I want them to know I did it all myself, without any help.”

“No, I think that's good.” Damian agreed, “You can do it, too, Bill. You're smart and intelligent. You could do it all yourself without me lifting a pinky.”

Bill smiled weakly, “Thanks.”

When they arrived back at the studio, Damian got out of the car with Bill and walked Bill to his car. The wind whispered a light breeze across the parking lot, lifting Bill's hair from his shoulders and pressing the scent of summer into his senses. It was almost June again. Another year gone. Another anniversary Bill would spend thinking of the Miranda and Tom.

As they reached Bill's car, Bill turned to smile at Damian, “Thanks for dinner.”

“You're welcome.” Damian smiled, “We should do it more often.”

“Yeah, it was fun.” Bill agreed.

Damian rocked nervously on his heels, apparently having more to say. They both lingered there anxiously, words hanging in the air between them, but blocked at their lips.

At last, Damian patted Bill's arm and said, “I should let you go. We're starting early again tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Bill murmured, reaching for the car door.

“Bill.” Damian rasped, grabbing onto Bill's forearm and pulling him about.

“Yeah?” Bill whispered, his heart throbbing in his chest as they came face to face. With the car behind him, he was trapped against Damian's chest; he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run or press closer.

“I, uh . . .” Damian murmured, his brows furrowing lightly, “I really like you.”

“I like you too.” Bill whispered, hardly able to hear his own words over the pounding of his heart.

“Good.” Damian said, nodding slowly.

They gazed into each other's eyes for several long moments. Bill could feel Damian's breath against his cheeks and feeling the other man's heart hammering in his chest, under Bill's hand. The air between them sizzled with electricity only they could see, drawing them closer. Bill let out a slow wavering breath and let his eyes sink closed. He felt light-headed and unsure, but everything inside him urged him to let go.

Damian's lips were a warm, moist brush across Bill's, fleeting and nervous, but oh so real. Bill felt his heart stutter and his chest explode with sudden, unfamiliar warmth. Damian's breath was hot against his cheeks, their faces hovering close for several paralyzing moments before his lips took Bill's more firmly. Bill melted in Damian's arms like icecream on a hot day, all his limbs going weak and useless as the other man lavished him with a long, slow, thorough kiss.

When at last their mouths broke apart, they were both breathing hard and shivering in delight. Their eyes connected like magnets drawn to each other and joining with attraction. Damian lifted a hand to drag his thumb lightly across Bill's moist, puffy lower lip.

“I'll see you tomorrow.” He murmured, huskily.

Bill tried to form a reply, but found his lips moving wordlessly as Damian turned and strode back his his own car, swaggering with confidence. Bill leaned weakly against his car door, panting in exhilaration, his head spinning. His body was tingling with the aftermath, and his heart was jumping in a way it hadn't in quite some time. But he was confused why just as Damian kissed him, that the memory of his and Tom's first kiss in that cabin so long ago branded itself across his brain.

 

~

6 months later

 

The sheets were warm and pleasantly soft around him as he blew a plume of smoke into the air. He watched with intense eyes as the cigarette smoke curled through the air and dissipated into nothing. Smoking had always held such a calming affect for him; the only thing to caress his lips and fill his chest and not betray him a moment later.

Bill lifted his head when he heard footsteps in the hallway.

“Look what just came.” Damian announced as he bounded into the room toting a package and a pair of scissors.

“Is that the magazine?” Bill asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

“It should be.” Damian replied, jumping into the bed next to Bill.

He sliced the box open cleanly with the scissors and reverently drew the glossy magazine from the wrappings.

Bill swallowed hard as he met his own dark, sultry gaze tearing itself from the cover of the magazine.

“Wow.” Damian whispered.

Bill reached out and slowly took the magazine from his grasp. He slid his manicured fingertips over the image of his face, wondering if this could possibly be reality. Damian had promised him a magazine cover, but he had never suggested such a short time table as six months. It seemed as if Bill had only come faltering and stammering into the studio yesterday, not even sure he wanted a modeling career but simply taking the job out of necessity.

Beside him, Damian drew in a sharp breath.

“You look like a god.”

“Goddess.” Bill murmured, dragging his fingertips down the photograph.

He was wearing a layer of dark, smoky makeup over his eyelids and fake lashes that gave his eyes a wider, exotic look. His lips glistened full and suggestive, begging for attention, while his left hand lingered at his throat, nails french-tipped and fingers covered in gold rings. His long, black hair parted down the middle and smoothed down straight gave him an bold, edgy appearance.

Bill drew in a deep breath and laid the magazine down on the sheets.

He wasn't even quite sure who that person in the photograph was.

“Aren't you happy?” Damian asked, noticing the flicker of confusion in Bill's gaze.

“Yes.” Bill replied, forcing a smile onto his lips, “This is what we wanted.”

Damian reached up to drag Bill's face toward him, “Darling, if it's not what _you_ want than this magazine doesn't mean shit.”

Bill swallowed back a sudden, sharp wave of emotion.

“No, Damian, it is.” He insisted, pressing his forehead against Damian's, “It is. It is.”

Damian sighed quietly, but leaned forward to kiss Bill softly, “Then let's celebrate with a glass of wine, shall we?”

Bill nodded, “Yes. Let's.”

Damian rose from the bed and left the room. Bill could hear him moving around in the next room, searching through the wine cooler for his most aged bottle. They had been betting on that bottle for the past six months, just waiting to crack it open at this moment of victory.

Bill leaned back against the pillows and sucked on the remnants of his cigarette. He momentarily wondered what the hell he was doing.

He was in Damian's bed, carrying on with an entirely unprofessional relationship with his boss – a relationship he wasn't even sure he wanted – and he was in a career he had taken out of necessity rather than passion. He'd wanted to make a name for himself, outside the shadow of Gordon; now he had succeeded rather fabulously, but he couldn't quite force the gusto into his celebration. His reaction was rather a cold, final acceptance. He could shove that magazine in Gordon's face and prove he was somebody, not simply the sobbing, skinny little boy that had once cowered at the man's feet.

He had accomplished his goal, and now he was ready to move on. Being in a relationship with Damian quite limited his freedom to move on from modeling, just as it limited his logic. He was so stupid to fall for Damian, but he had let himself trip over his own feet and straight into his boss's arms. Each moment of love and passion came with it's own counterpart of doubt and regret. He didn't love Damian – not the way someone should love such a beautiful, guileless human being. It was wrong what he was doing, and one day, he knew he would break Damian's heart. But at the moment, he couldn't stop. He was carried along by the tide of life, and he didn't feel like he was making his own decisions anymore. He was simply going with the easiest choice, the path of least resistance.

“Here we go.” Damian said.

He entered the room carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses. His eyes were sparkling as he handed a glass to Bill.

He cracked the bottle open and let it froth at the brim for a moment before pouring out two glasses.

“Thank you.” Bill murmured around the cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Here's to you.” Damian said, lifting his glass, “To your beauty and charisma in front of the camera.”

Bill smiled and clicked his glass softly against Damian's.

“Here's to us.” He countered.

Damian's lips curled in a sweet smile, “If you like.”

“I couldn't have done it without you.” Bill replied.

“All right, then. Here's to us.” Damian amended.

They both took a long sip of their wine. Damian finished with a sigh and settled against the pillows close to Bill. Bill could feel Damian's gaze on him, assessing the barely disguised pout and the dead ahead set of his eyes. He should have been trying harder to be happy, but pretending had never been a virtue of his.

Damian kissed Bill's shoulder, pecking a series of warm, moist patches up to his neck, where he nuzzled gently.

“What can I do?” He whispered, his voice thin and husky.

“What?” Bill asked.

“To make you happy?” Damian asked sadly, “God, what can I do, Bill?”

“I . . . I don't know what you mean.” Bill said, shaking his head, “I am happy.”

Damian leaned back, trying to meet Bill's gaze while Bill's eyes darted to the sheets.

“You are so beautiful.” Damian said, touching Bill's cheek lightly, “You have so much energy, and so much to give. But it's like you're in a cage, looking through the bars and watching everyone else enjoy life.”

Bill hid his watering eyes with one hand. He wanted to escape this conversation, but he knew Damian would hold him down until everything had been said.

“Bill, I want to set you free.” Damian whispered, fervently, drawing Bill's face toward his own. His dark eyes searched Bill's face with concern and longing, so deep that it made Bill's chest ache with his own special brand of regret.

“Please.” Damian whispered, pulling Bill onto his lap, “Let me open that cage.”

Bill blinked rapidly, expelling the tears from his eyes and letting them run in slender rivulets down his burning cheeks. He drew in a deep breath, fighting to loosen the knot in his throat, but he couldn't speak for the emotion swelling up to choke him.

“If I can't . . . won't you at least let me reach in and touch you?” Damian rasped, his voice ragged with emotion.

His hands ran over Bill's body, touching in short, anxious caresses against Bill's bare hips and back. The gentle touch made shivers rise on Bill's skin, but he didn't settle into the warmth and desire that usually followed.

Bill lifted a hand to carefully wipe the tears from his cheeks. He glanced sullenly at the magazine still resting in the sheets. In that moment, he hated his own face more than anyone that had ever hurt him.

“Let's burn it.” He whispered, acidly.

Without a hint of regret, he considered actually getting up and finding the matches. He didn't want to see that magazine ever again.

 

 


	33. The Bleeding Machine

The barn had always given him peace. There among the spirits of the gentle horses, most of which he had trained from foals, he felt completely accepted. No guilt, no glares, no judgments.

Tom leaned his forehead against Prissy's neck and gave a low sigh. The mare's nose was buried in his hand, nibbling away the baby carrots he had brought her as a prenatal treat. With the horse being older, he was concerned about her pregnancy, thus giving her more attention than the other horses.

“That's a good girl.” He muttered, reaching up to rub behind her ears.

Prissy nickered softly and turned her head to nuzzle at his face. The attention was better than most humans' these days. Interacting with the guests didn't bring him as much pleasure as it once had, and that left him with the company of his horses – a fact which didn't bother him quite so much lately.

Tom glanced around the quiet barn as he ran a hand over Prissy's swollen side. His gaze bounced off the ladder that led up to the loft, giving him a momentary flashback of climbing up into the hay with Bill. Each day, it seemed, something reminded him of Bill, even if it was only his conscious there to reestablish how stupid he had been.

Tom shook his head. Natalie had been telling him for almost two years now that it was time to move on, and maybe in his head he wanted to. Miserable with guilt and regret, he was prepared to move forward in life, but his heart was restless and stagnant. He didn't suppose he'd ever find his way out of this dark endless tunnel unless he left this ranch. Everything about this place held a certain memory he'd rather forget if he couldn't have Bill back, but he couldn't leave. The Miranda was his home now.

Tom wiped his hands off and made sure to fill Prissy's bag of hay before leaving the barn. When he reached the mess hall, lunch was already served.

Natalie raised a brow at his tardiness as he sat down next to her, but didn't say a word about it. He dug into his food without attempting to insert himself in the lunch table conversation. He had his financial meeting with Natalie after lunch; he didn't want to waste his words and patience on petty conversation with the other hands.

He ignored the feeling of Natalie's eyes on him throughout lunch. He sensed there were things she wanted to say, but it was probably the same old mantra – the same old advice to move on. What was moving on? Everyone made it sound so easy, and all the long months behind him suggested it was time. But his stubborn heart clung to the fantasy that Bill might come back, or might at least call to finally end this torture. Some days, he wished the fading memories and guilt about Charlotte would consume him as they once did, drowning out the dying echo of his love for Bill. It was cruel, but he preferred the torment of his long dead child over the torment of his long lost love.

Tom was reticent as he followed Natalie up to her office after lunch. He wasn't in the mood for finances even though things were tight and Natalie needed him focused and by her side to keep money balanced. He'd once prided himself in being her right hand man; now he wondered if he had lost enjoyment for every aspect of life.

Natalie closed the door behind them, and motioned to the chair he typically occupied during their meetings.

“Take a seat, Tom.”

Tom cast a light frown but sat down. Normally, when Natalie addressed someone in that way, it was the beginning of a long, important conversation – not about finances.

Tom shifted uncomfortably as Natalie circled her desk and sat down in her leather chair. Her exterior was calm, but Tom could read the concern in her eyes.

“I'd like to have a talk with you, but before we begin, I ask you to not get angry or argue before fully considering all the angles.” Natalie began, her tone gentle and persuasive.

Tom squirmed in his chair, “Nati, you know I'm a man of my word, so I can't agree to something when I don't know what it is I'm agreeing to.”

“Please.” She implored, clasping her hand in front of her chest.

Tom sighed, “Okay, only because it's you asking – but you've been warned.”

“Good.” Natalie smiled, her shoulders relaxing a bit.

“This isn't about the ranch, is it?” Tom questioned, feeling his stomach begin to twist with apprehension.

“No.” She replied, pulling and envelope from the top drawer of her desk, “It's about you.”

“Me?” Tom echoed, his churning stomach taking a plunge.

Natalie set the envelope on the desk and slid it across to him.

“I'm sending you on vacation.”

There was a beat of silence. Natalie gazed at him with hopeful, blue eyes, her hands clutched tightly in front of her.

“What?” Tom said at last, his tone flat and clipped with disbelief.

“Everyone on this ranch is allowed a week's paid vacation per year.” Natalie informed, extending her hand in his direction, “You haven't taken your vacation in over five years.”

“Because I don't want to.” Tom insisted, “Because I know I'm needed more here.”

“Everyone deserves some down time.” Natalie replied, “I could send you on a whole month vacation with all the time you have piled up.”

“What am I going to do with that much vacation time, Natalie?” Tom asked, throwing his hands out, “Huh? What am I going to do if I'm not here?”

“I don't know. Relax, drink, go fishing . . . Whatever you feel like doing.” Natalie replied, offering him an encouraging smile, “You have earned it, Tom.”

Tom gave a loud sigh and swiped the envelope from the desk. Peering inside, he could see a check written out to him, an airplane ticket and a few other documents.

“What is this?” He demanding, jumping up out of his chair, “I'm supposed to go out of the country now?”

“No.” Natalie replied, diplomatically, “Just somewhere nice.”

“You can't do this.” Tom said, shaking his head, “The ranch is already falling on hard times. You can't afford this money.”

He slapped the envelope down on the desk and turned to leave, his head swimming with disbelief, and a thread of anger. He knew the real reason behind Natalie's offer. She thought he was withering away here on this Ranch, thinking about Bill and not moving on. She thought he needed something life-changing, perhaps a change of scenery to distract him from the heartbreak. Well, he wasn't weak, and he sure as hell wasn't withering away. He just needed some goddamn time.

“Tom, wait.” Natalie cried, rushing from behind the desk to catch him by the arm, “Please, listen to me.”

“No,” Tom snapped, wrenching his arm out of her grip, “My place is here, with you, Natalie. Not out there drinking, or fishing of all goddamn things.”

“I asked you not to be mad.” She replied, quietly, her eyes pained.

“And I told you I couldn't make promises.” He countered.

“Can I be perfectly honest with you?” Natalie asked, softly.

“Please.” Tom waved an impatient hand.

“I'm watching you retreat.” She said, resting a gentle hand on his arm, “Cut everyone off – cut _me_ off, Tom. We don't talk like we used to, and I miss that.”

Tom sighed, feeling his heart twist unexpectedly. Perhaps he could put on a steel exterior for everyone else, but Natalie had always been able to see through the bullshit.

“I feel like I'm losing my friend.” Natalie whispered, moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes, “And I can't do anything about it this time. I can't help you, Tom.”

“Right.” Tom remarked quietly, “Which is why you can't force me to go on a vacation.”

“I'm asking you to go on vacation because only you can help yourself.” She replied, boldly, a hint of anger coloring her cheeks, “You need to go find your balance again, get away from this Ranch and all the things that remind you of Bill.”

“You're calling me weak.” Tom replied, shaking his head because he had seen this explanation coming.

“No.” Natalie insisted. She grabbed onto his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes, “You are the strongest man I know, and that is why it's killing me to see you this way. I know you can work this out for yourself, but not here. Not on this ranch.”

Tom stared at the floor between their feet, focusing on keeping the emotion choking his throat at bay. It was then that he realized, he hadn't cried about Bill in over a year – hadn't cried about anything, to be more accurate. He was a machine, walking around this ranch, following a routine, never deviating. He did what he had to do to survive each day, but not to really live. The tears in his eyes suddenly made him feel human again; a real human being with feelings, emotions – yes, even weaknesses.

“How long?” He asked, his voice strangled with tears.

“I booked you for a week in Santa Monica.” Natalie replied, “I'm willing to extend the time.”

Tom hurriedly wiped his eyes and shook his head, “No, no, we don't have the money for that.”

“It's okay. I have a little bit of money left from the last time Mason sent me a check.” Natalie said, referring to her brother.

“That would be the last of it.” Tom argued, “I can't take any more than a week.”

After court proceedings had finished, Mason hadn't allowed Nora to return to the ranch. He cut off his generous donations, and though he and Natalie were still in contact, he didn't want anything to do with the Miranda. Tom couldn't help but feel guilty, considering most of what happened that day had been his fault. With that knowledge on his conscience, he couldn't take the last of Mason's money.

“Does that mean you'll at least take the week?” Natalie asked, hopefully.

Tom sighed and scratched the back of his neck, “If I have to.”

“Nobody is forcing you.” Natalie reminded him.

Tom smiled briefly, “I still remember who I'm talking to, Nati. It's either I take this vacation or never hear the end of it until I'm dead.”

Natalie's lips pulled back in a grin, “There's my Tom. Come here, honey.”

Tom hesitated for only a moment before accepting Natalie's outstretched arms. She rose on her toes to reach his height and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Tom slowly circled his arms around her slender waist and rested his head against her shoulder. In the past several months, he'd almost forgotten what human contact was like, an now, the most platonic contact made his cold, locked heart thaw and ache for more. He had never felt more empty, more alone.

Tom embraced Natalie tightly, relieved with the knowledge that she wouldn't let go until he did.

“Thank you.” He whispered into her shoulder.

She squeezed him warmly, and he knew he didn't have to explain in words all the things those two little words summed up.

 

~

 

Three days later, Tom arrived in Santa Monica, California to find golden beaches and bright blue shores as opposed to the flat, green landscape that he had left behind in Montana. The air was full of life and energy, and the world seemed to expand into eternity.

Tom drew in a deep breath and told himself this vacation wouldn't be so bad. His shoulders felt light for the first time in years; in a way, he felt free. If not for his duties at the ranch and a lack of funds, he wondered what it might be like to stay out in the open world forever, traveling from city to city utterly free of responsibility and care.

Natalie had booked him at an affordable hotel. Satisfied that it was clean and functional, Tom couldn't have complained for a more extravagant vacation spot.

For the first whole day, he stayed inside that hotel, taking a long bath, watching TV, and wondering what the hell to do with himself. It had been almost ten years since he hadn't woken up with responsibilities and chores beckoning him, or the financial burdens of the Ranch weighing on his mind. Lost and anxious, he wandered around the hotel room, his hands itching for some task, his ear straining for someone calling his name for help.

On the second day, Tom took some of the tourist pamphlets from the hotel lobby and ventured outside to enjoy the attractions. The out of place feeling he experienced as he walked down the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers, was foreign and disconcerting, but ironically, it was also delightful. None of these people knew him, his past, or what he had done. He could shape a whole new impression to anyone he stopped to talk to. He could be anyone he wanted.

Tom followed a tourist guide around the city for a few hours, before growing bored and hungry. He left off from the group following the guide and stepped into a seafood parlor, Captain J's Ocean Buffet.

He took a seat at the bar and began to flip through the menu. He was vacillating between ordering beer-battered shrimp or lobster when a cheerful voice interrupted this thoughts.

“Welcome to Captain J's. I'm Percy. What can I get for you today?”

Tom glanced up to see willowy young man with black hair that hung over one eye, and the bluest eyes he had ever encountered, gazing down at him. The boy was pale enough to show a web of blue veins beneath his skin, a fact Tom found … distracting.

“I was, um . . .” Tom managed, trying not to stare too obviously at Percy's sky blue eyes.

Percy smiled patiently, holding his pen poised over his ordering pad.

“Well, which is better – the shrimp or the lobster?” Tom asked, at last.

“Well, in my opinion, the shrimp.” Percy replied, flashing a wide smile, “But everyone has their preference.”

“All right, I'll trust you.” Tom replied, “The shrimp it is.”

“All right. How about to drink?” Percy asked, scribbling quickly on his ordering pad, “We have Coke products and fully stocked bar.”

“Coke is fine.”

“It's well past five.” Percy replied, arching a mischievous brow at Tom.

“I-I don't really drink.” Tom said, shaking his head, “No thanks.”

“Okay, but we just got this new fruity rum in, which I think is delicious.” Percy said.

“No thanks.”

“Okay, I'll go put this order in for you and be back with your drink.” Percy said.

The boy darted away from the counter, weaving between other employees with a bounce in his step. Tom caught himself staring, and gave himself a swift mental kick. It was just too bad that he hadn't gotten laid in two years; he wasn't out here to have a one-night stand or week-long affair. He didn't want to meet anyone, or fall in love. He was getting too old for all that messy shit.

When Percy returned with his beverage, Tom was cradling his head in his head and staring at the counter.

“I am a bartender. I know that look.” Percy said, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks.” Tom said, taking his drink, “But I'm not really wanting to talk about it.”

“Oh, that's fine.” Percy waved a hand, “I know, you're here to enjoy your dinner. I was just about to sympathize.”

“Sympathize?”

“My boyfriend dumped me.” Percy shrugged, giving a brief, fake smile, “So, I know how you feel. It'll pass.”

Tom shook his head and gave a low snort, “Does it pass after two years?”

“That depends.” Percy replied, leaning closer, “Was it true love, or just a cheap imitation?”

Tom frowned softly and stared into his drink, “No, it was real.”

“Well, either you'll never get over it, or you better go find that lucky person.” Percy suggested, touching Tom's forearm lightly.

“Thanks.” Tom murmured.

“Well, your food should be up a minute.” Percy said, pushing away from the counter, “I'll go check on things.”

As the young waiter disappeared again, Tom rubbed a hand over his eyes. Yes, he had come out here to do some soul-searching, and to balance himself, but confronting his these very painful, lingering feelings made him want to retreat once more. Having his emotions laid bare to a complete stranger made him feel small and vulnerable. For a moment, he'd thought he could get over Bill, but the reminder that it had been real halted him cold in his steps. How could he leave behind the best thing that had ever happened to him – the thing that helped him move past Charlotte and Penny, an accomplishment he had once deemed impossible?

 

~

 

For a reason Tom couldn't explain, he returned to Captain J's the next evening. He wandered to the bar, unconsciously searching for the young waiter who had served him the night before. He had spent all last night tossing and turning, thinking of what the young man had said to him, and thus endured each moment remembering those blue eyes staring through him.

A young lady wearing an employee's uniform approached him a few moments after he sat down.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Yeah, um . . .” Tom glanced around the diner in hesitation before making his request, “Is Percy here?”

“Oh, yeah.” She smiled brightly, “You want him to be your waiter?”

“Yeah.” Tom agreed.

“Great.” She replied, “He loves regulars.”

She disappeared into the back of the restaurant, leaving Tom to wonder if he was making the right decisions. He had come out here looking for solitude and to lay his demons to rest – not entangle himself in another relationship. Sometimes it was just easier to forget.

Percy emerged from the back and strode to the counter with a delighted smile.

“You're back.”

“Yeah.” Tom shrugged, “I'm on vacation, so I thought I'd stick with a place I know.”

“Ooh, vacation. Lovely time of year.” Percy commented as he pulled his ordering pad out, “Relaxing at all?”

“Trying.” Tom replied, wryly, “It's difficult when I'm used to work twenty-four seven.”

“Is that so? What do you do – if you don't mind my asking?” Percy replied, his eyes bright with interest.

“I'm from Montana.” Tom replied, “I help my friend Natalie run her horse ranch.”

“You are a cowboy?” Percy exclaimed, “That is just enchanting.”

“It's not all it's cracked up to be.” Tom explained, chuckling, “Try shoveling horse poop, or teaching some bratty kids how to ride properly.”

Percy's eyes crinkled up in a wide smile, “Sounds delightful . . . I see it now – the rough around the edges, outlaw, brooding cowboy type.”

Tom felt his cheeks grow warm, “Um, thanks.”

“Can I get you something to eat tonight, cowboy?” Percy asked, winking playfully.

“Yeah, let's go with the lobster this time.”

“Okay, and Coke? Or something stronger?”

“Just Coke, remember?”

“Sure thing. I'll be right back.”

Tom sighed as Percy walked away.

 _Look at you, talking and laughing and having a normal conversation with another human being._ He thought, disparagingly.

It felt odd, but refreshing at the same time. Maybe Natalie was right about this vacation.

Percy dropped Tom's drink off at the counter, and was immediately whisked away to another customer. Tom absently watched the young man laugh and converse animatedly with the other guest, wondering if he was always this happy, or if it was a simple facade, constructed to snag more tips. He seemed so light, so untouchable. How did one defy the gravity of mistakes and the every day stress of life in such a way?

When Percy arrived with Tom's plate of fresh, hot lobster, Tom felt his stomach growl. He'd spent the day once again touring the city, and losing himself in it's beauty, not even stopping for lunch.

“Everything look good?” Percy asked.

“Yes, delicious.” Tom replied, grabbing his fork and knife from the table.

“Great. I guess that means you'll be coming back?” Percy asked.

Tom paused when he heard a hint of hope in Percy's tone. He glanced up to see the young man gazing down at him with winning smile.

“Well, I'm only here for a week, but yeah, I'll probably be back in.” Tom replied.

“Cool . . . Well, if I'm gonna be serving you every day, I guess I should know your name . . .” Percy let his sentence trail off suggestively.

“It's Tom.” Tom replied, extending his hand, “Tom Kaulitz.”

Percy shook Tom's hand with a warm, smooth palm that carried surprising grip for someone so thin.

“It's so nice to meet you.” Percy grinned, “I'll be back to check on you, Tom.”

He darted away to other duties in the restaurant, leaving Tom's hand warm and slightly tingling.

And so it went for the next two days, Tom arriving earlier and staying later, their conversations lengthening. Tom found himself revealing more and more to Percy. With some hesitation, he shared that he had once been married, but kept himself tight-lipped about both Penny and Bill. He wasn't ready to share the greatest loves of his life – the two that had broken his heart – with an almost complete stranger. There was constant urge to hide and conceal himself, but Percy's demeanor was so open and accepting that Tom relaxed enough to let the story of life slip from his careless lips.

It all struck him the fifth day of his vacation. He was in the shower, washing off the day's sweat from walking over the city under the blazing sun, when a memory flashed through his brain. He and Bill, sitting at the lakeside after an afternoon of touring the Ranch, sharing little details about themselves that they normally wouldn't share. Bill's long, raven hair fluttering against his pale cheeks, his dark eyes gazing blankly across the water, his slender body folded in hug, as if to shield himself from a wind that might simply blow his delicate limbs away. Pale and dark all at once, sheltering an inward beauty from the cruel world, cradling the dying flame of his youthful heart . . .

Percy was Bill – or what Tom hoped had become of Bill since their departure. Pale and dark still, but letting his beauty shine for the world to see.

Percy was Bill – Tom reaching for Bill. Still waiting for that love to return to him, still clinging to the fading hope.

Stomach churning, Tom stepped out of the shower and dragged a towel around his shoulders. When he met his own disturbed expression in the mirror, he saw a man growing old with regret and guilt, clinging to a previous chapter of his life, whose pages were now nothing but ash. Seeing himself so raw and empty, no Ranch, no Natalie to protect him, nearly sent him into a fit of hyperventilating sobs. All along, he had been telling himself he was fine, when in reality, he was drowning to the depths of his dark soul.

 

~

 

Percy Brink sighed as he checked the store front for the hundredth time that night. It was way past seven o'clock now, the time that his cowboy had showed up for the past four days. Whether he liked it or not, Percy really wanted to see Tom again, even if he knew the other man was on vacation. Leaving soon, just like most of the people that passed through Percy's vagrant lifestyle.

Sure, he had only been holding this job for five months and since hooked up with three different regular customers, but Tom seemed different. There was a mysterious sadness in his eyes, but a fleeting smile that made Percy think he was a salt-of-the-earth fellow – no cruelty or ill intent inside him. Maybe he was a victim of circumstance, like Percy.

“Tom didn't show up tonight?” Melody, one of the other bartenders approached him with a sympathetic gaze.

Percy sighed, “No.”

“We're gonna be closing up soon.” Melody reminded him.

“He's been a regular for four days.” Percy replied, shaking his head, “I am getting my hopes way too high.”

“I've seen you land one in less than a day.” Melody replied, chuckling, “Losing your touch, boo?”

“No.” Percy scowled, “He's just . . . I don't know . . .”

“Please, don't say 'different'.” Melody interjected, her eyes growing wide. When Percy cut her an irritated glance, she clapped a hand over her mouth, “O.M.G. Percy Brink! You have a heart!”

“Stop it.” He muttered, crossing his arms tightly.

“Here, let me feel.” She groped at his chest, causing him to squirm and dart out of her arm's reach. She threw her hands up, “It's not made of ice anymore! I actually feel a real, living, pumping heart beat.”

“Would you stop?” Percy demanded, fighting back a grin, “I'm not even that bad.”

“Sure.” She shrugged, “But you never even give a guy a chance at a real relationship. You have to at least admit that.”

“I'm not looking for a real relationship, okay?” Percy replied, brushing his bangs indignantly from his eye, “There's nothing wrong with wanting night time companionship.”

Melody squinted her eyes in disagreement, “Whatever you say, boo, but in my experience, a long lasting relationship is more fulfilling in the end.”

Percy glanced up at the nearly deserted restaurant dining room, searching the vacant chairs for a response, only to be shocked into a splitting grin. The front door swung open and Tom slipped inside, head down, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Oh my God, there he is.” Percy squealed, slapping Melody a bit too hard in the arm.

“Oww! God, Percy, I have eyes.” She protested.

“Bring me a Coke and utensils.” Percy requested, without glancing at her.

“Only because I love you.” She replied, turning on her heel to fetch the drink.

Percy leaned against the counter, bouncing his leg to contain the excited vibrations going through his body. Tom took his time weaving through the empty tables to the bar. As he drew closer, the red-rimmed eyes and ragged expression splashed ice cold water on Percy's merriment.

“Hey, Percy.” He muttered, sitting down heavily on the bar stool.

“Hey, cowboy.” Percy replied, searching Tom's sad expression with something akin to real compassion.

He had worked everything from the street corner, to a store clerk, to waiting – he knew how to fake interest and make a customer happy. But this feeling in his chest was different; he was actually worried.

Melody appeared with the Coke and utensils. Her expression darkened when she noticed Tom's downcast demeanor. Percy took the drink and utensils and placed them in front of Tom without uttering a thank you.

“Can I get you anything to eat tonight?” Percy asked, “We're going to be closing up soon, but I'm sure I can persuade them to make one last plate.”

Tom was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head. Pointing a finger at the Coke, he asked in a rough voice, “Do you have anything stronger than that?”

Percy blinked, struck silent for a moment. Every night he asked Tom if he wanted alcohol; every night Tom replied the exact same way – no thanks, Coke is fine.

“Um, uh, sure.” He stammered, “We have a fully stocked bar. What do you want?”

Tom shrugged, “Surprise me.”

Furrowing his brow, Percy eyed Tom like a puzzle he was trying to decipher. He'd always noticed a sadness in Tom's soft, brown eyes, but this defeat was something different.

His mind turned with possibilities as he went behind the counter to mix Tom a cocktail. Only knowing Tom for four days didn't give him many clues as to why the cowboy was so sad, but Percy knew a broken heart when he saw one. He couldn't count on one hand the number of unhappy divorcees he had catered too in his days as an escort; the look of defeat was always the same. This time, Percy wasn't sure he should give the customer the temporary companionship they most often longed for. Tom was obviously an emotional wreck, guided by a gentle soul that took pain and heartbreak hard. He didn't seem like the type that could shut off his conscience and drown himself in a moment of physical pleasure.

Percy set the cocktail before Tom with a quiet murmur, “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Tom replied, accepting the drink to his lips. He took a slow sip and winced as the alcohol went down, “God, I haven't drank in years.”

“Why's that?” Percy asked, keeping his tone light and even.

“Because, I drank too much at one point.” Tom replied with a tilt of his head, “I wouldn't call myself an alcoholic, but I was definitely impaired.”

“Does that mean I need to only let you have one of those?” Percy asked, putting a smile on his face for Tom's sake.

Tom raised his brows as he stared down into the glass, “I suppose.”

“Hey,” Percy said, reaching out to touch Tom's arm, “You okay, cowboy?”

Jaw working from side to side, Tom pursed his lips tightly. Percy drew back when he noticed the light sheen of tears swimming his dark eyes. He didn't know how to deal with heart break outside of a sexual setting; especially not with someone he barely knew.

“No, it's fine.” Tom whispered, sniffing back the emotion. He swiped quickly at his eyes with his sleeve, muttering almost angrily, “I'm fine.”

“Okay.” Percy said, “I can just go away for a minute, if you want.”

“No.” Tom said sharply, lifting his agonized eyes, “Please, stay.”

“Okay.” Percy said, slowly.

Tom grabbed the drink and took a quick swallow, as if to bolster himself.

“I used to date this boy.” He said, eyes boring into the smooth surface of the bar.

“What happened?” Percy asked, softly.

“He was seventeen, I was thirty, at the time.” Tom replied, “If that sounds awful to you, it's okay. I probably didn't have the best judgment at the time – but that's what he did to me.”

“No.” Percy said, shaking his head, “We don't get to choose who we love.”

“Damn right.” Tom replied, snorting quietly. He licked his lips and scraped a hand through his hair, before adding softly, “But, you know, if I did have a choice, I wouldn't change anything.”

“Why not?” Percy asked, “You seem . . . down.”

“I loved him.” Tom replied, his voice growing strangled, “I loved him more than anything, because after years of not feeling a goddamn thing, he made me feel alive. He made me feel warm, and happy, and wanted . . .”

“I'm sorry.” Percy murmured, rubbing Tom's forearm gently.

Tom sniffed and rubbed the tears from his eyes, “You know, it's been two years since he walked away from me, and I can still remember every detail of his face, how soft his skin was, even the way he smelled.”

“Some people we're not meant to forget.” Percy remarked, giving Tom's arm a squeeze, “This was the real love you were talking about the first day you came in here?”

“Yeah.” Tom said, raggedly, “Bill.”

“I'm sure he was lovely.”

“He was.” Tom nodded, drawing in a deep breath, “He was an angel.”

“If it's not too personal, can I ask what happened?” Percy requested, carefully.

“It was impossible.” Tom said, lifting one shoulder, “Our time together was temporary. He was going back to his parents in L.A., and I was going to stay in Montana because of the ranch. We had a big fight about it, he ran off . . . got hurt. When I went to see him after, he was different . . . cold. He just walked away.”

“I'm sorry, that's awful.” Percy whispered.

“I took this vacation trying to move past it all.” Tom said, wiping his tears, “Now look at me, still sobbing about it like a baby.”

“You won't find any judgment here.” Percy promised, “Sometimes you just have to get it off your chest.”

Tom sipped at his cocktail with vacant eyes, and Percy could tell Tom was no longer seeing him. The hopes and plans he had been building for the past four days came crumbling down to collapse on it's faulty foundation. He felt villainous now, knowing what Tom had been through, and plotting to exploit his loneliness.

“Guys we're about to close up.” Melody said softly, as she approached the bar, “I'm sorry.”

“I'll close up, Melody.” Percy replied, glancing at her with pleading eyes.

“Percy, I'm supposed to be closing.”

“I know. Tell Jim we traded. Please?”

Melody sighed, but backed away, “Okay, but everything better be done when I come in tomorrow.”

“It will be. Swear to God.”

“Okay, I guess I'll get going then.” Melody replied.

She turned and disappeared into the back, leaving Tom and Percy alone.

“I shouldn't keep you here.” Tom said, rising from the bar stool, “I should let you get home.”

“No, it's okay.” Percy argued, waving Tom back to his seat, “I'm right here as long as you want to keep talking.”

Tom hesitated, as if to argue further, before dropping back to the stool, “Thank you.”

“Whatever you want to drink, whatever you want to say.” Percy said, sweeping his hand to encompass the whole restaurant, “Go ahead.”

“Okay.” Tom agreed with a weak smile.

Percy knew it might be a long night, but he definitely one he wouldn't regret.

 

 


	34. Destiny

The soft breeze blowing in from the water fanned across Tom's bare back and rustled his long, loose hair against his shoulder. Squinting against the afternoon sun, Tom glanced up and down the beach from his position on the bar stool at one of the open, beach side cafes. For seemingly endless miles, the strip of beach glowed sparkling sand into the horizon, where men, women, and children of all varieties played in the water. No sign of the person he was looking for. 

Tom turned back to his rum and swirled the little umbrella absently through the beverage. It wasn't quite five o'clock yet, but he considered vacation to be beyond those kinds of rules. Besides, there was still a dull throb from last night's hangover that could be eased by another dose of numbing alcohol. 

_I'm falling to pieces._ Tom thought, shaking his head. 

He had specifically told Natalie he wasn't coming out here to drink, yet here he was, with another glass in his hand after last night's catastrophe. 

Tom jumped, almost spilling his drink when a pair of light fingertips drifted over his arm. 

“Hey there, cowboy.” Percy smiled down at him, glowing his signature warmth and life. 

“Oh, hi. I didn't see you coming.” Tom replied, putting a hand over his racing heart. 

“Lost in thought?” Percy replied, taking the stool next to Tom, “I have a penny. . .”

“Just thinking about drinking.” Tom shrugged, “Since I haven't in so long, and now I am.” 

“Maybe you should stop if you feel badly.” Percy said, his smile fading. 

“Yeah.” Tom sighed, sliding the glass of rum away from him, “Besides, I came out here to see you.” 

“Yeah, um . . .” Percy murmured, plucking his sunglasses from his nose, “I'm sorry about that . . .”

“Why?” 

“Maybe I shouldn't have asked you to a day on the beach last night since you were so upset, and drinking and-”

“I wasn't that drunk.” Tom interrupted. 

“No, but . . .” Percy gazed at him, a tiny frown of concern creasing his forehead, “You're the only person that has really . . . caught my attention in years and-”

“Look, I'm not . . .” Tom began, sharply. He bit his tongue when he noticed Percy flinch at his sharp tone, “I'm sorry.” He murmured, “I'm just not looking for a relationship.” 

“Right.” Percy said, lowering his head, “I was right. I was really stupid to ask you to come out here with me today.” 

He rose to leave, but Tom reached out to catch his arm, an instinct he couldn't intercept before his fingers were tight around Percy's wrist. 

“Wait.”

“What?” Percy asked, his blue eyes sad and melted. 

“Maybe I'm not looking for a relationship . . . But to be honest, I haven't had a friend in years. And maybe what I need his just some human companionship.” Tom said, honestly, “I'm sorry if that's not what you want.” 

Percy drew his lips in a tight line, eyes squinting in thought. Tom could see a dozen thoughts flashing through those clear, blue eyes, not a single one of them satisfied. He felt like a jerk, drawing the boy in and relying on him for emotional support, only to stop him at “just friends.” 

“It isn't what I want.” Percy said, at last, “But we don't always get what we want.” 

“I'm sorry.” Tom whispered, lowering his head, “God, I feel like such an asshole.” 

“You're not.” Percy argued, “I am. I didn't tell you this, but I've hooked up with more than one guest from Captain J's. I didn't really have pure intentions either when I met you. I honestly feel terrible for scoping you out when I realized you were in pain.” 

“So, we're even?” Tom asked, hopefully. 

Percy chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment and glanced out at the picturesque scene of the beach, so removed from their sadness. He gave a shrug of his slender shoulder and nodded. 

“Yeah.” He agreed, his voice throaty and tainted with tears. 

“Maybe we should both just go home.” Tom muttered, rubbing his aching forehead with thumb and forefinger. 

“Hey, look on the bright side.” Percy suggested, drawing in a deep breath and forcing a smile across his lips, “I have the day off, it's your last day of vacation, and the beach looks awesome. We should at least enjoy it.” 

“Really?” Tom asked, surprised. 

“Sure, why not?” Percy shrugged, “I feel like it would be a waste to go home early.” 

“Okay.” Tom said, slowly. 

He felt ready to sprint in the other direction as they walked down to the water's edge, but something kept him walking in a straight line at Percy's side. Perhaps it was the glow of the boy's black hair under the sun that made him think again of Bill, or the chance at a real human touch in his life. He simply couldn't walk away, even after such an utter failure. 

They spread out beach blankets on the sand and tested the water with uncertain toes. With the salty breeze blowing in their faces, they dashed into the ocean and swam like a couple of fish, unaware of the hundreds of other people around them. When they had exhausted themselves, they laid out on the blankets and let the warm sun beat down on their quickly drying skin. In silence, they turned their heads to lock gazes. It was quiet and warm, peaceful. Tom felt his chest squirm, grow hot, explode. His mechanical organ found real flesh and blood, real humanity beyond cold emptiness and repetitive routine. 

In a day he would be going home. He would probably never see Percy again, but he knew he would never forget this vacation. It was teaching him there was a life beyond that Ranch, and beyond Bill. There was an entire world of black-haired boys and lovely human beings. When his heart found it's pace, there would be someone else. 

 

~

The next day, Tom was in his hotel room packing his suitcase when he heard a quiet knock on the door. Frowning, Tom walked to the door and peered through the peep hole. Through the tiny bit of glass, he made out familiar black hair and blue eyes. 

Tom pulled the door wide open.

“Percy, what are you doing here?” 

Percy lifted his shoulders and smiled sweetly, “Just came to say goodbye, that's all.” 

“Wow, thanks.” Tom smiled, “You can come in if you want.” 

“Okay.” Percy agreed. 

Tom shut the door behind Percy as the boy wandered into the hotel room, glancing around the clean, furnished area with interest. 

“Nice place.” He commented, running his fingertips across the bedsheets. 

“Natalie booked it.” Tom shrugged, “She wouldn't have me staying in a dump.” 

“Must be nice.” Percy replied with a wry smile. 

Tom frowned when Percy had his back turned, but rearranged his face into a smile when Percy turned on his heel to face Tom. 

“Thanks for coming.” Tom said as he flipped his suitcase shut and zipped it. 

“Of course. I've seen you every day for a week, so I feel like I have to.” Percy replied, flashing a brilliant smile. 

“You didn't have to.” Tom said, reaching out his hands for Percy to take them. 

Percy gripped Tom's hands tightly and cast Tom a bittersweet smile, “God . . .” He whispered, sniffing back tears, “I'm never going to see you again, am I?”

Tom bit his lower lip, “Percy, I don't know.” 

“Shit.” Percy muttered, lifting a hand to quickly wipe his eyes, “Sorry . . . I am a stupid boy, aren't I? I've only known you for a week, and I'm crying like a kid.” 

“It was a good week.” Tom smiled, reaching up to touch Percy's chin. 

Percy nodded, weakly. 

Tom sighed, holding Percy's gaze for only a few seconds longer before turning to grab his suitcase. 

“I'll walk you down. I have to be to the airport in an hour.” Tom said. 

“Wait.” 

Percy rushed to the hotel room desk and grabbed the pen and notepad. He quickly scribbled on the sheet of paper and tore it off with trembling hands. 

“Here.” He pushed the paper into Tom's hands. 

Tom glanced down to see ten digits of a phone number written in jagged script across the hotel notebook paper. 

“You don't have to.” Percy said, quietly, “And please, don't call it just because I'm asking you to. I just . . .” 

“I know.” Tom smiled, “It's okay.” 

He folded the paper and tucked it safely in his pocket. 

Grabbing his suitcase, he followed Percy out of the hotel room and shut the door behind him for the last time. Their walk downstairs to the lobby was quiet and weighted with emotions that neither of them were ready to speak. 

After checking out at the front desk, Tom led them out to where his rental car was parked. He hoisted his bags into the trunk and shut the lid firmly. Percy lingered by the car, his thin arms wrapped lightly around his middle, and his chin down. 

Tom put his hands on Percy's shoulders and squeezed gently. 

“I'm so glad I met you.” He whispered. 

“Really?” Percy lifted wide, pale eyes to look at Tom. 

“Yes. You taught me more in one week than I could teach myself in two years.” Tom said, smiling briefly, “And that's more than any human being has given me in a long time.” 

Percy sniffed quietly and glanced away. He was quiet for several moments before he said in a low, trembling voice, “I don't know how many partners I've had, Tom. I lost my virginity at fourteen. Intimacy never really meant anything important to me. It was something I wanted, you know, but not something I could ever get my hands on.” 

“I'm sorry-” Tom began, quietly. 

“Don't be.” Percy replied, lifting his chin, “Most of those choices I made myself. Maybe you didn't come into my life to be the one. Maybe you just came to show me that there's still good guys out there. To keep looking if a real relationship is something I ever want.” 

“There are good guys.” Tom said, firmly, “I'm looking at one right now. Don't lose hope.” 

Percy blinked the moisture from his eyes and smiled, tight-lipped at Tom, “Because of you I won't.” 

They embraced tightly for several moments, their silence speaking volume to match their words. When they finally, grudgingly let go Tom climbed into his car and started the engine. He glanced in his rear view mirror one last time to catch a glimpse of Percy hugging himself and swaying like a sapling caught in the wind. He pulled away from the parking lot as abruptly and quickly as he could because he knew if he stayed any longer, he might make a decision he would regret. He wasn't ready for another relationship, even if he longed for the companionship. 

Tom drove automatically, while his mind drifted a million miles away. Sadness still clung to him, but there was a ray of hope starting inside his heart. He would keep his eyes fixed on that light until he came out on the other side. 

Tom reached the airport early. Since he had skipped breakfast at the hotel, he ducked into one of the airport restaurants to grab a bite to eat before his flight. He took his tray to a small table in the corner, even though there wasn't many people in the restaurant with the early hour. He had eaten most of his sandwich when he glanced up, through the entrance of the restaurant. Across the walkway, another shop full of souvenirs and other trinkets held a display of magazines. In a sea of tabloids and celebrities, Tom's gaze picked out one cover – one face. 

Tom sat frozen for several moments, eyes fixated on the magazine several yards in the distance. For a moment, he almost convinced himself that he was seeing things; he was simply emotional from the conversation with Percy and thinking about Bill in association. 

Jumping up from the table, Tom grabbed his tray and threw the remainder of his sandwich and the wrapper in the trashcan as he exited the restaurant in a hurry. He darted across the wide, empty aisle and entered the souvenir shop, his heart pounding wildly. Taking a sharp left turn, he rushed to the magazine stand, and ran his gaze hurriedly across the number of glossy covers. At last, his eyes rested on the dark cover of a fashion magazine, brightened only by the name stamped in white across the top. He snatched the magazine from the stand and stared breathlessly at the alluring face gazing from the smooth paper. 

Bill's daring gaze and pouting lips drew him in just as the first moment Tom had laid eyes on the boy so long ago. He was older now, his jaw and cheekbones thinned and defined, and his gaze confident in his beauty and seduction. His hair was longer than Tom remembered, and parted severely down the middle to frame his face in smooth, straight strands that fell to his chest. 

Hands shaking, Tom flipped the magazine open and searched anxiously through the pages for the cover story. After a few moments of searching, he opened to the middle of the magazine where an entire spread of photographs depicted his grown up Bill in a dozen different high fashion outfits. All the photographs were done in black and white, allowing Bill's essence to take priority over the ridiculous clothes he was wearing. 

Tom lifted a hand to his mouth, muffling tearful exhale. Counting in his head, he realized Bill would be nineteen by now, almost a full grown adult, but so young to be landing magazine covers. Tom felt an unexpected surge of pride as he gazed over the photos. 

_I told you._ He thought, drawing a fingertip over Bill's cheek in one close up photos, _I told you that you could be anyone you wanted._

He momentarily thought about buying the magazine, but reverently placed it back on the rack. He had come out here on vacation to move on, not to cling to the past no matter how bright it appeared for Bill; and after a taxing, but freeing week, Tom realized he could move on. By all accounts, Bill appeared grown up and confident in his beauty and person. It was almost like permission for Tom to let go. If Bill could be happy, maybe he could be too. 

Tom left the little shop in a daze and headed for his departure gate, relieved, but so unaware. The next time he would see Bill's face on the cover of a magazine, it would be in Forbes, in a very different type of photo shoot . . .

~

Winter was coming; everything was dying. The green, luscious grass of summer withered into brown patches of earth, and the last of colorful fall leaves clung by threads to spindly tree branches. A harsh wind constantly blew down from the mountains, bringing the first taste of cold and snow. 

It was the final week before the Miranda Gulch Ranch officially closed it's gates to guests for the winter. Soon, Tom would be entrenched in cleaning and boarding up the guest cabins and stowing away any supplies they wouldn't need during the winter months. He dreaded the cold and snow, not so much for it's chilling affects, but for the hardships it brought to the ranch. They had little income during these months except for sponsors and breeding; he feared they might not survive much longer. 

Though Christmas was still a few months off, the Miranda celebrated with their final guests by wreathing the rec hall and playing carols through the speakers. 

“Let It Snow” played through the hall, background noise to the constant hum of conversation, as Tom ducked into the rec hall. Several guests and hands were decorating a massive Christmas tree and hanging other decorations around the rec hall. Avoiding the mass of people around the tree, Tom snagged a glass of fruit punch and some cookies from the table and found a corner near the back of the hall. 

Natalie, who was overseeing the decorations, noticed him enter. She smiled at him from across the room and he returned it. She gave a few more instructions to Randy and the guests before crossing the room to where Tom sat.

“Where have you been?” She asked, pulling up a seat next to him, “We started this party half an hour ago.” 

“I had some things to do.” Tom shrugged. 

She tilted her head and raised a brow at him, “As always.” 

“You know I don't like these sorts of things.” Tom said, waving a hand at the crowd, “The holidays don't mean much to me anymore since I don't have any family around to celebrate with.” 

“You have me.” She punched him lightly in the arm. 

“I know.” Tom smiled briefly. 

“Well, just so you know, you're still getting a present under that tree.” Natalie said with a warm smile. 

“Thanks, Nati.” 

“Hey, Mr. Kaulitz!”

They both glanced up when an ecstatic, Southern voice interrupted their conversation. Tall and blond, Felicity Blake, a faithful guest to the Ranch each year, was a sight to see. A widow who had inherited her late husband's cattle ranch, she used her money to travel, but most often to the Miranda. She had placed her sights on Tom since the moment she first arrived. 

“Hey, Felicity.” Tom said, plastering a smile on his face. 

“Why don't you come join us?” She asked, dropping down into a chair across from Tom as if the display had exhausted her. 

“No, thanks.” Tom replied, “You go ahead and enjoy yourself.” 

“Oh, Tom, you know I can't enjoy myself without you.” She replied, sticking her lower lip out, and extending both hands to him. 

“Sure you can.” He smiled, “You have enough energy for ten people.” 

“Well, it sure is being wasted, being single.” She said, waving a finger at him. 

Natalie crossed her arms over her chest and laughed in Tom's direction. Tom cast her simmering glare. 

“Do you see this, Miss Franz?” He asked, waving a hand at Felicity, “One of your guests is seriously out of line.” 

Natalie and Felicity descended into giggles, much to Tom's chagrin. He grabbed his punch and swallowed some back to quell the rising blush on his cheeks. 

“Okay, okay.” Felicity said, rising from her chair, “He's turning red as Rudolph's nose. I better stop . . . But I'll be back later, when the dancing starts.” 

She turned and sashayed back to the crowd of guests in the rec hall. Tom watched her go, shaking his head. She would probably never understand that he was honestly rejecting her, instead of simply playing hard to get. 

“Why don't you do it?” Natalie asked, her smile fading. 

“Do what?” Tom asked, not meeting her gaze. 

“Go for it.” Natalie waved a hand at the chair Felicity had just vacated, “She's fun, and beautiful, and smart . . . Not to mention rich.” 

“Natalie.” Tom began, shaking his head. 

“And you – you are a handsome, honest, good man.” Natalie continued, poking his chest with her finger, “It shouldn't be wasted away out here on this ranch.” 

“It's not being wasted.” Tom insisted. 

“You deserve love, Tom.” 

“I've had love.” Tom retorted, “I've had enough love to last a lifetime, Natalie. It was real and beautiful, and just because it's over doesn't mean I'm not happy anymore. I've accepted that my place is here, on this ranch.” 

Natalie gazed at him, a light frown on her brow, “You amaze me.” 

“What?” He asked, extending a hand, “I'm done being sad, Natalie. There's nothing amazing about it. I just made the decision I'm not going to live in the past anymore.” 

“But how?” She asked, “How do you just close the door like that?” 

“I didn't. It came after a lot of years of pain and questioning.” Tom explained, “But thanks to you, sending me on that vacation, I finally just an an epiphany. I can either spend the rest of my life being productive and helpful on this ranch, or I can spend it being sad and wondering 'why me?'” 

“Okay.” Natalie said, softly, “But my statement still stands.” 

“Maybe love just isn't for me.” Tom said, quietly, shaking his head. 

“That's not true, and you know it.” Natalie said, pinning him with a serious gaze. 

“What I do know is either someone comes into your life because they are the one, or they come into your life to teach you a lesson.” Tom replied, “I thought Bill was the one, but maybe he was a lesson to show me my calling in life. Maybe my life is supposed to be here, happy and alone, until I die. If it is, I can live with that.” 

Natalie sighed and shook her head. Her lips parted, on the verge of speaking, but she glanced away at the last moment. Her pale, liquid eyes reflected the golden lights from the decorations, but a flare of something more. 

“What?” Tom asked. 

“Nothing, I just . . .” She shrugged and shook her head. 

“You just what?” 

She turned her face toward him, resting her chin on her shoulder, “I just hate to see you alone.” 

“I know, Natalie. But it's okay. Really.” 

“No, I just keep thinking . . .” She whispered, reaching over to clasp his hand, “What if he _was_ the one?”


	35. Invaded

Bill started awake, pushing back suffocating covers from his sweating body. A cry for help died on his dry lips as he struggled from the clutches of the nightmare and blinked his eyes hard, grounding himself in the reality of his and Damian's bedroom.

The dark curtains were drawn, blocking out the dying sunlight of late afternoon. Jumping up from the bed, Bill yanked the curtains open and forced the window up, allowing cool air and sunshine to touch his damp skin. He breathed steadily through his nostrils, focusing on each passing breath. He was none too happy that his afternoon nap had been disturbed by recurring dreams, but he didn't have the energy to throw a fit.

Bill spun around, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest, when the door flew open. Holding a hand over his heart, he drew in a deep breath when he realized it was only Damian. His partner entered the room, his wide and brow furrowed with concern.

“I heard you yelling. Is everything ok?” Damian asked.

“It was just a dream.” Bill sighed.

“Oh thank God.” Damian let out a breath. He pulled Bill into his arms and planted a kiss on his forehead, “You gave me a start.”

“I'm sorry.” Bill murmured, resting his forehead on Damian's shoulder, “I've been having them lately . . .”

“It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?” Damian asked, softly.

Bill shook his head violently.

“Okay, it's okay.” Damian soothed, cradling Bill closer to his chest, “How about some water, darling?”

Bill nodded his agreement, “Okay.”

Damian guided them back to the bed and left Bill there while he rushed to the bathroom to get a cup of water. While he waited, Bill scrubbed his hands over his tired eyes and drew his long hair into a pony tail away from his sweating neck. His body was cooling, but the dew of terrified dream world left a chilled sheen on his skin. He wanted to take a shower and scrub away the last of his imaginations horrific concoctions.

He'd dreamed of Anis, for the first time in years, a fact which troubled him greatly. It had been years since the man who had taken advantage of him had entered his dreams. He had just begun to think he was moving past the rape.

“Here you go.” Damian said, entering the room with a glass of water.

Bill took the glass and swallowed back as much of the cool water his thirsting lips and tongue could manage. Damian sat next to him, smoothing back loose hairs around his temples, and watching Bill with concerned eyes.

“Thank you.” Bill murmured as he lowered the glass.

“Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?” Damian asked, rubbing Bill's back in a soothing circular motion.

Bill sniffed and shook his head.

“Okay, but I'm right here if you want to talk.” Damian insisted.

Bill let his eyes gaze suspended and vacant out the window, not focusing on anything in particular that he could visualize.

“I used to have them when I was young.” Bill whispered, drawing his legs up against his chest, “I had therapy . . . It helped for awhile.”

Damian was silent, but Bill could hear his shock and worry in the way his hand stilled against Bill's back, and the subtle shift of his body closer to Bill's.

“I can handle my own brain working against me.” Bill muttered, “Always thinking there's someone over my shoulder, never thinking I'm good enough.” He shrugged lightly and pursed his lips against rising tears, “But I can't handle it when it's in there . . . When I don't have any say, or any way to defend myself.”

“Bill . . .” Damian began, his tone rife with worry.

Bill rose from the bed before Damian could grasp him tighter.

“I think I need some air.” He whispered.

Grabbing his phone and fitting his feet into the nearest pair of shoes, he marched toward the door.

“Bill, wait.” Damian pursued him to the door, catching him lightly by the arm. He tugged Bill around, trapping Bill between his body and the door, “I'm worried about you, baby.”

“I'm fine.” Bill whispered, shrinking against the wall to escape Damian's piercing gaze.

“You never told me that you had these dreams, or about having to go to therapy.” Damian said.

“Because it doesn't have to do with us.” Bill mumbled, staring at the ground.

Damian cradled Bill's face in his hands, guiding Bill's eyes back to him. “I've been trying really hard here, but it seems like you're always unhappy.”

“You do make me happy, Damian.” Bill murmured, resting a hand against Damian's chest, “You are perfect. It just that I'm . . . I'm me.”

“Then share yourself with me.” Damian pleaded, “You know you will never find any judgment or rejection from me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Can you just let me go?” Bill asked in a low sigh.

Damian hesitated for a moment before leaning back, “All right, Bill. But my statement stands.”

“I appreciate it.” Bill said.

He yanked the door open and escaped the house before Damian could interrogate him further.

He ran blindly to his car and clambered inside. Breathing heavily around the suffocating tears, he fumbled to get the key in the ignition. He shakily guided the car out of the driveway and onto the road. Once he was driving in a straight, steady line, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his best friend's number.

Andreja picked up on the third ring, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Bill said, “Can you meet me?”

“What? Now?” Andreja asked.

“Yeah, I need a drink.”

“You don't sound too good. Are you okay, sugar?”

Bill gripped the phone tighter and flexed his other hand around the steering wheel. A stray tear slipped down his cheek.

“Fine.” He managed through gritted teeth, “I just want to talk.”

“Okay.” She agreed with little hesitation, “Where?”

“Lemon's is fine.”

“Okay, I'll see you there, honey. Be careful driving.” She said, despite his claims that he was fine.

“Thanks. See ya.”

He dropped the phone into the passengers seat with a heavy sigh. With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, he saw flushed cheeks and tear-filled eyes. He quickly wiped the escaping tears and blinked away the last of the moisture. He'd made a pact with himself after graduation to stop crying about all the stuff interrupting his life. He had cried almost everyday for years, and only Tom had changed that. Now Tom was gone; there was just Bill.

Bill reached Lemon's fifteen minutes later. With the early hour, the gay bar he and Andreja frequented was mostly deserted. Relieved, Bill got out of his car and walked to the darkened entrance. He wasn't here to hook up or flirt with other guys. He just wanted a drink in a familiar place that didn't scare the shit out of him like his living arrangement with Damian did.

Bill sat down heavily at the counter, barely conjuring a smile when Georg approached.

“Hey, Billy.” Georg said, pulling a glass from under the counter and producing Bill's favorite drink before the downcast young man could ask.

“Hey.” Bill mumbled, taking the drink from Georg.

“Everything okay?” Georg asked after a pause.

Bill shrugged, “It's life, Geo. What can I say?”

Georg nodded, slowly, “Can I get you anything else?”

“Andreja's coming.” Bill replied, “I'll be fine until then.”

“Okay, give me a shout if you do.” Georg said, patting the bar in front of Bill's vacant gaze.

The handsome bartender drifted away to check on the sparse other customers, leaving Bill to stare into his drink and relive his conversation with Damian over and over again.

Damian was an angel that had been delivered to Bill through some miracle, divine or coincidental. But even after eight months of a steady relationship, Bill didn't sense the urge to open up to his boyfriend. He still held all his secrets – the ones he had revealed to Tom after only knowing the rancher for a week – close to his chest. A tiny part of his heart that longed for the trust and long-term commitment of a real relationship wished that his icy fingers would loosen their grasp, but fear and doubt that plagued him since the moment Anis had first laid a hand on him stood in front of him like a barricade.

Bill had just gulped back his second shot when Andreja strode through the door in a pair of stilettos and a floral pencil skirt with a ruffled, hot pink top. She flicked a large pair of sunglasses to the crown of her blond head and quickly scanned the bar for Bill.

Bill felt a ghost of a smile cross his lips when he saw his best friend, but didn't move to greet her.

“Hey, honey.” She murmured as she sat down next to him.

“Hey.”

“God, you look like you got run over by a semi. Come here, baby.” She cooed, gathering him into her arms.

Bill didn't argue as she buried his face in her shoulder, smothering him in smooth strands of hair, silk ruffles, and perfume. He sat utterly still for several moments before her arms began to rock him and the warmth of her hands penetrated his cold exterior. Slowly, the emotions began to explode from their compartments, leaking so fast he couldn't rush fast enough to push them back down inside him. He clung to her shoulders as long, low sobs began to wrench themselves from his chest and the tears stained her shirt.

“There now, baby.” She murmured, petting his hair, “It's gonna be okay. I've got you.”

Her gentle words did little to soothe the tide of emotion he had been pinning down for weeks. The muffled sobs evolved into hiccuping gasps for air as the sorrow and unhappiness relieved the weight from his shoulders.

Andreja held him, soothing him, lavishing caring strokes through his hair and over his shuddering back until the sobs subsided into quiet sniffles. Bill slowly uncurled his fingers from around her shirt and leaned back, wiping his tear-stained face. He lowered his chin, embarrassed by his outburst but unable to speak around the emotion still thick in his throat.

Andreja squeezed his hand, “Go to the bathroom and wash you face, then we'll talk, okay?”

Bill nodded, mutely.

Mechanically, he rose from the bar stool and walked to the bathroom. The small bathroom was quiet and isolated, and though it wasn't the cleanest, he felt safe now that his emotions were hidden from the world once more.

Leaning against the sink, he gazed at his wrecked expression. He shook his head at the flushed, puffy cheeks and glassy, red-rimmed eyes. Underneath the blush of tears, he was pasty white and slender to the point of being gaunt. Light fingertips lifted the hem of his t-shirt to peruse narrow, protruding hips and the ribs visible beneath white, blue-veined skin. He hadn't even realized how much weight he had lost in the past several months until he came face to face with the utter meaninglessness of his life.

Fighting back another wave of emotion, he bent to splash cold water on his heated cheeks. The water soothed his face and watery eyes. For several minutes, he leaned over the sink, running the water into his palms and onto his face. He pondered simply leaving Lemon's, getting in the car, and driving with no certain purpose other than to never return. It was a lovely fantasy he entertained for only a moment before wiping his face clean and leaving the bathroom to return to Andreja's side.

He didn't look at her as he situated himself on the bar stool and poured himself another drink.

She gazed at him in stifled silence for several moments before breaking the quiet with a gentle whisper, “Do you want to talk?”

Bill pursed his lips and focused on the smooth, wood surface of the bar.

“Or we can just drink, if you want ...” Andreja added, her tone laced with worry.

Bill took a sip of his alcohol and followed it with a swipe of hand over damp lips. The alcohol stung down his throat, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and hide his face in his hand.

“Jesus, Bill.” Andreja muttered, grabbing the bottle to pour herself a drink, “You can't call me here, and then just let me sit and watch while you fall apart.”

“It's just everything.” Bill burst out, throwing up a hand, “Everything in my stupid, fucked up life.”

“We all have bad days, honey.”

“It's not just today.” Bill grunted, casting Andreja a dark gaze.

“Be honest.” She said, squeezing his shoulder, “Are you and Damian fighting?”

“No.” Bill said, sharply. He squinted into his drink, reconsidering that answer.

“You don't look so sure.”

“We're not fighting out loud.” Bill sighed, leaning his elbows heavily on the bar, “He's fine. It's just me that's. . .”

“You can't keep leading him on if you don't mean to make the relationship last.” Andreja said, honestly.

“I know.” Bill groaned, letting his head fall to the cradle of his arms.

Andreja leaned closer to put her arm around his shoulders. She was quiet as she squeezed him close.

“Do you ever feel like you're a little speck in the ocean?” Bill mumbled, slowly lifting his head, “Just getting carried along by the tide, with no say in where you're going?”

“Yes.” She replied, quietly, “I was a transgender teen trying to grow up in a homophobic father's household and attend the public school with a thousand other kids just waiting to pick on the ugly duckling. Trust me, I know.”

“Then what do I do?” Bill asked, holding up his hands in defeat, “I don't know what to do, Andreja.”

“You have to take control, Bill. I know some things you don't have control over, but you have choices to make. For instance, eight months ago you chose to move in with Damian and start a relationship. You chose to go into that studio and be hired as a model . . . You made those decisions because you were unhappy and you wanted to make a change; maybe that was an important chapter in your life that's over now. You have new choices to make, but you have to have the courage to make the right ones.”

Bill covered his face with both hands and mumbled, “You make it sound so easy.”

“It's not, baby. I know it isn't.” Andreja replied, stroking her fingers through his hair, “Sometimes you think it's better to take the easy way out because fewer people will get hurt, but in the end, the right choices always yield the right situations you want to be in.”

“You're saying it's easier to stay with Damian, but eventually it'll be worse because . . .” Bill's voice dwindled as the truth dangled on his lips.

“I'm not saying you didn't love him.” Andreja whispered.

“But what if I didn't.” Bill replied, glancing over at her with wide, wet eyes, “What if I just thought it was love, and now I've hurt him?”

“I believe your intentions were right.” Andreja replied, “I have been watching you these past eight months, and you've changed. Whether you see it or not, I think being with Damian has done you good. Just because something is over doesn't mean it wasn't a good thing.”

“You're right.” Bill moaned, “ I just don't want to hurt him.”

“You have to tell the truth. That's what's important.”

“What if I'm just freaking out?” Bill reasoned, “Everyone has doubts about a relationship, don't they? I mean, I've only been with Damian for eight months; we can't know each other completely yet.”

“Bill.” Andreja interrupted, softly.

“What?” He swung his gaze to her. He was breathing shallow gasps of desperation, thinking in scattered, terrified patterns. He hadn't been able to leave the house fast enough, but now the thought of losing Damian scared him more than anything.

“Only you know.” Andreja said, pointing at his chest, “And only you can make the decision.”

Bill swallowed hard, as if tasting poison in his mouth. Turning a vacant gaze to the bottom of his glass, he shook his head. He didn't want to think about the situation anymore; it had been plaguing him day and night for weeks. He didn't want to make the hard decision, even though no one else could make it for him. He didn't want to break Damian's heart; most of all, he didn't want to be alone again.

“Hey, Geo.” Bill called to his friend across the bar.

Georg sauntered back to where Bill and Andreja sat, a look of curiosity in his pale green eyes.

Bill pulled out his wallet and laid down a few bills, “For the whole bottle.”

“Bill.” Andreja whispered, her tone cautionary.

Geo took his the money and placed the bottle firmly on the counter in front of Bill, “It's still early, Bill. I retain the right to stop you at any time if you get out of hand.”

“Understood.” Bill said, rolling his eyes.

He grabbed the bottle and poured out a tall shot of alcohol for both he and Andreja. He nudged the glass to his friend, who eyed him with concern and dissatisfaction.

“Now is not the time to get smashed, Bill.” She said, though she took the glass in her hand.

“Any time is a good time.” Bill replied.

He tossed back the shot and swallowed fast, letting the alcohol scorch his throat. He slammed the glass down, breathing hard.

“Go ahead, Andreja.” He waved at a hand at her full shot glass.

“You know, the only reason I'm still here is because I care about you.” Andreja replied, her brows knitting deeply, “This isn't the answer.”

“Who has the fucking answer?” Bill griped, tilting the bottle to sloppily splash out another drink, “You? Me? God? Where the hell has God been all my life?”

“You're angry. You need to stop.” Andreja said, putting a hand on his arm, “Let's just go home. We can talk at my place.”

“I don't want to talk.” Bill yelled, slapping her hand away. He jumped up from his stool, shaking all over, “If you don't want to drink with me then leave me the hell alone.”

“Why are you pushing me away?” She demanded, tears rising in her eyes, “You know I'm always here for you!”

“A moment of weakness does not signal the end.” Bill whispered, his voice low and trembling, “Just because I cry on your shoulder doesn't mean you're my fucking mother.”

“Fuck you.” Andreja said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, there's plenty of people to fuck me here.” Bill hissed, leaning closer to glare straight into her eyes, “This place is gonna be filling up soon.”

“Bill, don't.” Andreja whispered, through gritted teeth, “This is not the way to end things with Damian.”

“Don't tell me.” Bill said, snatching his bottle from the bar, “I'm gonna go have some fun, okay?” He backed away, wagging a finger in her direction, “You don't fucking tell me.”

As he disappeared into the crowd, Andreja leaned both elbows on the counter and lowered her head into her arms. She loved her friend unconditionally, but sometimes he could be the most stubborn, frustrating, and unlovable person on planet Earth. Now it was up to her to endure the night at Lemon's and make sure Bill got home in one piece.

 

~

 

The hallway that led back to the bathrooms were dark and secluded. Ventilation was sparse, adding heat to the sweaty, grinding bodies and thick, alcohol-tainted breaths.

“I wanna fuck you.”

“Right here?”

“Wherever.”

Bill giggled under his breath as the man pressed him closer to the wall, burying his face in Bill's neck. He gasped slightly and arched against the cool brick. The man's knee nudged between his legs, rubbing up against a growing erection.

“Let's stay a little longer.” He murmured, stroking both hands over the man's broad shoulders to admire the rippling muscle beneath.

“Hard to get, huh?” The other guy whispered, wrapping both arms around Bill's skinny waist and hoisting him up against the wall, “What if I just hold you down?”

“A little rough?” Bill murmured, dragging his hand down the man's jaw and digging his manicured nails into the tender skin of his throat, “Is that how you like it, hmm?”

“Fuck.” The man whispered, straining closer to Bill's lips, “You're so hot, baby.”

Bill's smile faded. He harshly slapped a hand over the man's mouth, and pushed back against the wall to lever the man's body away from him.

“Don't call me that.” He snapped as his feet landed on the floor.

“What?” The guy's expression was crestfallen, “I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean-”

“It's fine.” Bill waved a hand, “But don't ever call me 'baby' again. I'm not your baby, okay?”

“Fine.” The man raised his hands, “We can just . . . find other people tonight.”

“No.” Bill argued, even louder this time.

The man's brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed with caution. Bill muttered curses under his breath; he could see he was losing his catch for the night.

He swiped his cigarettes out of his back pocket and pressed one between his lips. The man stepped in, pulling a lighter from his pocket before Bill could retrieve his own.

“Here you go.” He murmured, flicking the open flame across the tip of Bill's cigarette.

“Thanks.” Bill murmured, smoke pouring from between his lips.

“High-strung, eh?” The man asked, running his thumb over Bill's cheek, “You need to relax. I have something you might like.”

Bill's eyes narrowed as the man swiped a small bag of white powder from his pocket. He held his low between them so that no one going in or out of the bathroom could see.

Bill stared blankly at the drugs being offered to him. His heart thudded deep in his chest, a sluggish, yet terrified rhythm that made him nauseous. He had done drugs before, but never something as strong as cocaine. He hadn't liked the way it made him feel afterword, though he couldn't deny the lure of an escape from reality.

“Come on, we can have a little fun together.” The man suggested with a low chuckle. He leaned closer, trapping Bill between his body and the wall, “I have more in my car . . .”

Bill reached out a trembling hand. He blinked rapidly, feeling sweat dripping down his brow and into his eyes. His whole body quivered in a cold sweat, fear and excitement swirling like a toxic cocktail, going straight to his head.

His fingertips hovered over the little bag in the man's palm, barely brushing the plastic. He licked his lips convulsively, tasting dry tongue and bile.

Suddenly, the sound of his cell phone ringing shrilly cut through the silence. Bill withdrew his hand sharply and yanked his phone out of his pocket.

The man sighed and leaned back, disappointed.

Bill's heart jumped when he saw the caller ID, but he didn't want to hang up. He had to get out of this hallway.

“I have to take this.” He muttered.

Bill rushed from the hallway and shouldered his way through the thick crowd of swaying, undulating bodies and long, drunken stares. It was like fighting against an incoming tide, afraid of drowning, until he reached the exit. Cool, night air poured across his sweating skin, soothing the heat suffocating his body.

He slapped the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“Hi . . . Bill? It's me, your mom.”

“Hi, Mom.” He panted, leaning heavily against the brick wall.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just stepped out of a party.” Bill replied, “What's up?”

“Well, I was just calling to ask you a few questions.”

Bill bit his lower lip to suppress a groan. He hated when his mother prefaced a serious conversation with those words. A few questions always led to an interrogation, and an interrogation always led to a fight. No matter how much their relationship had improved since the Miranda, they would never agree on some things.

“What is it?” He asked, carefully.

“Gordon and I were thinking that since the holidays are coming up, we could have you and Damian over.”

“Oh.” Bill said, surprised.

“I know Gordon is never going to fully accept your sexuality, or Damian for that matter, but we're still a family.” She added, wistfully.

“A family.” Bill muttered, shaking his head.

“Honey, please.”

“That man is never going to be my family, and you know it.” Bill said, harshly.

He clamped his cigarette between his lips and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. The nicotine soothed him momentarily, just enough to edge back the blossoming anger.

“But I miss you.” Simone whispered, “You hardly visit. When I call, you sound upset and sad. Sometimes you don't even pick up the phone. I just want to see you, baby.”

Bill sighed and stared at the cement sidewalk under his feet. He had forgiven her; perhaps the only person in his life that he had fully forgiven. But she was still married to Gordon, still living in that bastard's house, and Bill simply couldn't walk through those doors without remembering all the times they had argued in that living room, or he had run from the dinner table crying, or Gordon had followed him to his room, belt dangling from his hand.

“I know what you're thinking.” Simone whispered, from the other end of the line, “And you're right. Seeing Gordon and acting civil is a lot to ask for. But it's the holidays – can we please act like a normal family for once?”

“We'll never be normal.” Bill replied, “Not until Gordon stops beating on us. Not until you leave that bastard.”

“Bill, you don't understand-”

“How can you love someone who routinely beat your child, and is now abusing you in the same way?” Bill demanded. He pushed away from the brick wall and paced several yards down the sidewalk, limbs humming with angry energy.

“Marriage is about loving someone through their faults-” Simone replied, her voice strained with tears.

“Abuse is not a fault, Mom.” Bill yelled, gripping the phone so tight his fingers hurt, “It's never okay to stay with someone who is hurting you.”

“Bill, please. Can we just talk about the holiday dinner?”

“I can't come.” Bill said, shaking his head, “I know what will happen. Gordon will start interrogating me and Damian, and then it'll make Damian uncomfortable, and then Gordon and I will start fighting. It'll be a goddamn fucking disaster, do you hear me?”

“You don't know that.”

“I do.” Bill replied, more quietly this time, “I do, and I don't want to go through it.”

“At least ask Damian for me.” Simone requested, softly.

“I'll tell him you called.” Bill agreed, though he wasn't sure why, “But I'll tell him the same thing I just told you.”

“It's his decision.”

“No, it's our decision.” Bill corrected, “That's what couples do.”

He hung up before he could say anything more hurtful. He felt like shit, putting his own relationship up on a pedestal compared to Simone and Gordon's, when it was crumbling at his feet. He had to admit, he and Damian were falling apart; an awful holiday dinner was the last thing they needed.

 

~

 

Bill arrived home under the blanket of a dark, clouded sky, and a waning moon. He slipped inside, and carefully made his way through the dark house. The last worried text message from Damian had come in over an hour ago; Bill could only hope that his boyfriend had given up and gone to bed. He wasn't in the mood to explain himself at two o'clock in the morning.

Bill ducked into the bathroom and discarded his sweat and cologne dank clothes into the hamper. The scent of more than one strange man clung to those clothes, searing regret into Bill the longer he wore them. As they fell into the basket, he considered simply throwing them away. He had never felt so low or dirty. He wasn't a cheater – and yet he was.

Bill climbed into the shower and rinsed the residue of a cheap, drunken night from his body. He wasn't drunk enough to forget his morals or silence his conscience. Lingering in the shower, he groaned at the thought of climbing in bed next to Damian, knowing he had touched and kissed another man tonight.

At last, he dragged himself from the moist heat of the shower and wrapped a towel around his shivering body. He tip-toed into the bedroom, watching Damian's sleeping form with wary eyes. Damian hardly stirred as Bill finished drying himself off and climbed naked between the sheets. The pillow-top mattress, and warm, fluffy sheets drew him in, and he settled down to squeeze his eyes shut and chase the possibility of sleep.

A moment later, Bill gasped when he felt Damian's hand snake across the bed and touch his body.

“Jesus God, I thought you were asleep.” He said, rolling over to face Damian.

Damian gazed up at him through the darkness, brown eyes searing like knives into Bill's chest. For a terrifying moment, Bill thought Damian knew.

“You were out late.” Damian murmured.

“I'm sorry. Me and Andreja got carried away.” Bill replied, hoping the guilt didn't reflect too clearly through his tone.

“I texted you like twenty times.” Damian pointed out, a frown creasing his brow.

“Sorry, I wasn't looking at my phone. Like I said, me and Andreja . . .”

Damian gazed at him with narrowed eyes, and Bill felt hollow, as if Damian could see straight through him. Shivering, Bill almost wished Damian would just say it – demand Bill tell him the truth, throw him down and punish him for being a whore.

“Well,” Damian said, at last, “I hope you had a good time. Next time, just text me back.”

“I will.” Bill whispered, breathlessly.

He laid down against the pillows, breathing in focused inhales and exhales to keep himself from crying or hyperventilating. He was fucking liar, headed straight for Hell. Damian was an angel, too good to see the inky blackness in Bill's heart.

The bed shifted. Bill's eyes fluttered open as the warmth of Damian's body pressed close, trapping Bill against the sheets. His lips descended like hot, wet velvet against Bill's, caressing in loving, hungry strokes. Bill's stomach flipped, but he couldn't find the will to stop Damian.

Damian cradled Bill closer, both hands feeling their way down Bill's naked body. They traversed the paths they knew well, finding the spots that always made Bill's squirm and grow hard. In moments, Bill was panting quietly and gritting his teeth against the pleasure slowly making his groin hard.

“You left upset.” Damian whispered through the darkness, his breath caressing Bill's ear, “Let me take care of you, baby.”

Bill moaned softly as Damian flipped him onto his stomach. His cock chafed against the sheets; he was already completely erect, wanting. Damian grasped his ass cheek and bent to nuzzle the warm cleft with kisses and long, wet licks. Bill gasped in pleasure, writhing against the sheets. His lips twisted, willing the words to spill from his mouth, but every protest withered and died each time Damian licked his hole.

At last, Damian's fingers brushed against him, giving only that tiny indicator before delving into the clenching heat. Bill gave a low, wavering cry and bucked helplessly against the sheets. Damian's fingers twisted and plunged inside him, working him open with an exotic, yet brutal touch. Bill sobbed, his body begging for more while his unfaithful mind wandered to those moments in the hidden hallway at Lemon's.

The torturous moments seemed to last forever until Damian grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He pushed Bill up onto his hands and knees and rutted into him from behind. His cock went in rough the first time, plowing Bill's minimal resistance into oblivion and filling the small void with his thick member. It bore pain that Bill willingly accepted, as punishment for his infidelity and untruthfulness.

He was focusing on the feeling of Damian thrusting into him, the crushing weight of guilt in his chest, when out of nowhere, Tom's face emerged from his dusty, hidden memories.

A single moment in a thousand.

The look of defeat on Tom's face. The tears in his eyes. The plea for Bill to believe him.

_“So, you would rather keep your stupid little secrets than save our relationship?”_

Bill squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ground himself in the reality of Damian fucking him from behind. Forcing a moan from his lips, he thrust back against Damian, trying to rush the sex to an end.

A single moment, lost in pain and regret.

_“Is that how it's going to be?”_

_“I just want to know the truth. Are you cheating on me? Are you using me? What are you doing, Tom?”_

Damian growled loudly and grabbed a handful of Bill's hair. Light pain flared across Bill's scalp as his head was pulled back, yanking their bodies closer. Despite everything, Bill felt the pleasure burn hotter in his loins, and he reached for it – he reached for the rising tide of the orgasm as if their union would make everything disappear; as if it would make them happy again, perhaps even erase Tom from his memory.

But yet, here they were, accosting him now harder than ever before. Tom was still there, under his skin, inside heart, infesting his mind.

Every single moment like broken shards of glass digging into him.

_The first taste of Tom's lips inside that cabin._

_The possessive anger in Tom's eyes as he felled Dirk to the ground with one punch._

_The unmatched pleasure when Tom took him out by the lake._

_The safety Bill felt in Tom's arms when Peter and Gordon threatened to separate them._

_The confidence that swelled in his chest when Tom said, “You're beautiful.”_

_The love that consumed his body when Tom made love to him so perfectly._

_The pain of letting go . . ._

With a few final thrusts, Damian came hard inside of Bill. His body spasmed and jerked against Bill's, letting a long stream of release blossom hot and thick deep in Bill's body.

“Oh, Tom.” Bill gasped.

His eyes jarred open just as the cry of pleasure left his lips. He hardly remembered telling himself to cry out of Tom, though with his former lover's face filling his head, he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

Damian pulled out and sank to the sheets next to Bill. His brow was slightly furrowed and damp with sweat.

“What did you say?” He asked, still panting from the strength of the orgasm.

“What?” Bill asked, trying to brush it off.

“Just now. What did you say?”

“God.” Bill lied smoothly, “'Oh God', because you fuck me so good.” He chuckled lightly nudged Damian's shoulder with his knuckles, “Come on, do me now, and make me scream.”

Damian's confused expression slowly faded. A smile grew on his lips as he crawled down between Bill's legs, taking the thick, hot erection in one hand. Bill settled back against the pillows and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on Damian's mouth licking and stroking him. He pushed all thoughts of Tom from his mind, along with the stranger he had made out with at Lemon's. He'd been so close to ending things with Damian, but the sharp reminder of Tom made Bill realize he wasn't quite ready to let go. He could hold onto Damian a little longer.

 

 


	36. Repression

Bill clasped his hand over his forehead and listened to the sound of tires running over pavement. Sinking down lower in his seat, he tried to focus on something other than the churning in his stomach. 

“How about some music?” Damian asked, reaching for the stereo.

“Sure.” Bill whispered, eager to escape the static buzzing between them.

Damian clicked the radio on and scrolled through channels until he settled on a classical piece he enjoyed. Bill sighed deeply, just quietly enough that the music muffled the sound of distaste. At the beginning, Bill had found Damian's love for classical quite unique and interesting; now he couldn't be happy with anything his boyfriend did.

“So,” Damian said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, “Any head's up before we get there?”

Bill raised his eyebrows and cast a disbelieving look in Damian's direction.

“What? I've never met your parents before. I just want to make sure I don't put my foot in my mouth and make a bad impression.” Damian explained.

“I know. I'm just saying . . .  _everything_ is a head's up.” Bill replied, rolling his eyes. 

Damian pursed his lips and directed his gaze to the road ahead of them.

Bill squirmed as he glanced out the window to see the neighborhood he had lived in since the age of fifteen until he was nineteen. They were almost to Gordon and Simone's house, fact which made his stomach swirl with nausea.

Because it was his mother, he had kept his promise and asked Damian about the holiday dinner. Even though he had already known Damian would agree, he had entered the conversation hoping against hope that Damian would say no. Bill was quite sure he knew how the dinner would end. Between Bill and Damian's relationship, Simone's prying questions, and Gordon's disapproval, the night was hellbound.

“You've been out to them for how long?” Damian asked, quietly, “They should have accepted it by now.”

“Since I was eighteen, after graduation.” Bill replied, “And it's mostly Gordon, not my mom. She took it kind of hard at the beginning, but she's accepted it. Gordon is just an asshole – that's all you need to know about him.”

Damian shook his head, “You're not a real man if you have to hit someone to prove yourself.”

“How . . .how did you come to that conclusion?” Bill asked, sitting up in his seat.

Damian glanced over at him with serious eyes, “My boyfriend in high school was abused by his stepfather for being gay. I know the signs, Bill.”

Bill swallowed hard, “How long have you. . .?”

“I don't want to call you weak or transparent.” Damian replied, softly, “But after meeting you, I quickly realized there was something . . . broken.”

Bill pursed his lips hard and glanced away to hide the sheen of tears.

Damian reached over and slipped his fingers through Bill's, “When you mentioned Gordon, I started putting the pieces together.”

Bill sniffed quietly and carefully wiped tears from the corners of his eyes to avoid smearing his makeup.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of.” Damian added, thumb stroking rhythmically across Bill's knuckles, “It doesn't say anything against the kind of person you are. I just want to be there to love you through it.” 

“Thank you.” Bill whispered, squeezing Damian's hand back.

Their hands remained linked until they arrived at Gordon and Simone's house. Stepping out of the car, Bill drew his jacket tight around his middle and sucked in a deep breath.

“I haven't been inside this house since I moved in with you.” Bill whispered as Damain came to his side.

“We can do this.” Damian said, rubbing his back, “I want them to know that I'm the right kind of guy for you, and that I'm going to take good care of you. They can't argue with that.”

“I know.” Bill whispered. He gave a firm nod, “Let's do this.”

They walked to the front door together, hands clasped tightly. Bill lifted a trembling hand, only hesitating for a moment before ringing the door bell.

Footsteps could be heard inside before the door unlatched and swung open. Simone greeted them with a bright smile.

“Hi. Come on inside!” She waved a hand toward the warm and decorative living room.

Stepping inside, Bill glanced around the house with nostalgic and grimacing eyes. A Christmas tree boasted flashing red and green lights and dozens of sparkling bulbs, and the shelves were lit with scented candles. Simone had laid out a few hors d'oeuvres on a low table next to the recliner, along with a plate of Christmas cookies.

The room was cheery and festive, but Bill saw straight through the decorations to the same old walls of his former prison. With a shiver, he leaned closer to Damian.

“You must be Damian.” Simone said, smiling. She extended her hand, “It's so nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes I am.” Damian smiled charmingly and shook Simone's hand, “I've heard a lot about you from Bill.”

“Oh, really?” Simone chuckled, glancing at Bill's in surprise.

“Mostly good things.” Damian winked.

“Mostly?” Simone laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course, Mom.” Bill replied, allowing a smile to spread across his cheeks.

“Oh, come here, you.” She said, opening her arms to him.

He went willingly and sank into the warmth of her hug with tightly closed eyes and sighing lips. Despite the bad memories still ghosting this house, he couldn't deny that he was happy to see his mother.

Simone leaned back, cradling his cheeks in her hands.

“My handsome son.” She murmured, “You're growing up so much.”

“Mom, stop.” He whispered, ducking his head to hide a blush.

“No, look at you. You've grown up so much since you moved out! And dating such a handsome young man.” She grinned, reaching out to gently nudge Damian's arm.

“Well, now,” Damian shook his head and put an arm around Bill's shoulders, “I think I'm the one lucky enough to be dating a handsome young man.”

“That's my Bill.” Simone agreed, chest puffing out in pride.

“Okay you, guys. Really.” Bill argued weakly, “I'm not really all that.”

“Landing magazine covers at nineteen. That's pretty impressive.”

Bill, Damian, and Simone all swiveled to see Gordon standing in the doorway. The older man's silvering hair was slicked back in his customary style, and his gray eyes cut into Bill from across the room. A cigar streamed smoke from between his thick, ringed fingers.

“Gordon.” Bill said, trying to keep his tone moderate, “Nice to see you.”

Gordon nodded as he sauntered into the room, “Nice of you to come around, Bill.”

“Honey,” Simone interrupted, putting a hand on her husband's arm, “This is Damian.”

“Hi, Mr. Trumper. It's nice to meet you.” Damian said brightly, extending a hand to Gordon.

Gordon eyed Damian up and down for several moments before returning the handshake firmly, “You're the man that photographs Bill?”

“Yes, sir. I own my own studio. It's not too far from here actually.” Damian replied.

“You really gussied Bill up on that cover.” Gordon said, taking a drag of his cigar, “I almost couldn't believe that was the same rebellious little delinquent that used to live here.”

Bill pursed his lips hard and forced himself not to speak. He had known walking in here that Gordon wasn't going to make it easy. Bill had left quite abruptly, after all, following an intense argument about his life choices. He simply had to get through the next few hours without opening his mouth to retort to Gordon's carefully placed jabs.

“Well, you better believe it.” Damian replied, flashing his rockstar smile, “Bill is the best model I have ever photographed, not to mention the most mature nineteen year old I had ever met.”

“Is that so?” Gordon replied, casting a withering gaze at Bill.

“Yes, sir. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on that I had to photograph him.” Damian said, squeezing Bill closer to his side, “And now I'm lucky enough to be more than his photographer.”

“Well, isn't that beautiful?” Simone cooed, before Gordon could say anything further, “Why don't we all sit down for dinner?”

Bill drew a deep breath. His lungs felt tight, as if a rope was looped tightly around his chest, squeezing tighter with every second. Every impulse inside him told him to leave this house immediately, but he couldn't simply flee and leave Damian behind. To anyone else's standards, a few hours over dinner didn't seem difficult, but to Bill, they were an eternity with Gordon's eyes drilling holes into his forehead.

Simone served up turkey with healthy portions of homemade macaroni and cheese, green beans, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and moist slices of zucchini bread. Bill loaded an acceptable portion of the feast onto his plate, though he knew he didn't have much of a stomach for eating.

Simone said a short grace over the meal before every took their forks and knives in hand.

“So, what have you been up to besides work, Bill?” Simone asked.

“Not much.” Bill replied quietly, “Fashion is on high demand these days, so Damian and I are in the studio a lot. At night we just hang out and watch movies or something.”

“How lovely.” Simone murmured.

“What about that boy from high school?” Gordon asked, slicing his knife severely through a portion of turkey, “Do you still hang out with cross-dressing freak?”

Bill sighed loudly and set his fork and knife down, “Andreja. And  _she_ is not a freak, or a cross-dresser. She is a beautiful woman.” 

Gordon shook his head and gave a low snort, “Whatever you say, Billy. I'm just wondering how many dollar signs are packed in that 'beautiful woman' now.”

“Does it matter?” Bill snapped, “She is who she is, and she's happier than ever before.”

“Bill.” Simone said, gently, “Let's keep our voices down.”

“He's starting it.” Bill replied, motioning to Gordon.

“All right, all right.” Gordon said, waving a hand, “Forget the tranny. What about you, Damian? Let's hear about you.”

Bill sighed and leaned back in his chair. Staring hard at his plate, he tried to convince himself that he needed to eat at least half of the meal his mother had prepared. Gordon was making him sick with every comment, and his mother's mediation only added to the disgust. He couldn't quite remember how he had lived in this household every day, listening to the carefully moderated conversations that always verged on argument.

He chewed and swallowed mechanically as he listened to Gordon interrogate Damian on his childhood and his life in Africa. Damian glossed over Africa and elaborated on how he had forged his way to become one of L.A.'s most esteemed fashion photographers. Hearing the pride in Damian's voice should have sparked some joy in Bill, but all he could muster was irritation. Damian seemed to be the only one fully enjoying himself at this get-together. His life was successful and picture perfect, the kind of story that Gordon liked to hear, even if Damian was gay. Bill knew he wouldn't hear one positive comment toward his own plans for the future from the man who was supposed to be his stepfather.

At last, as Damian was explaining how he met Bill at a party – excluding the part where Bill stumbled from the building, vomiting and drunk – Gordon deigned to look at his stepson.

“Bill, don't you think it's a little pretentious to be dating your boss?” Gordon questioned.

Bill glanced up, not attempting to hide the hatred in his eyes, “No.”

“Well, actually, my studio is a stand-alone business. I am my own superior.” Damian interrupted with a smooth smile, “No one is going to come down on me for dating one of my models.”

“But, doesn't that look bad in the industry? If Bill were to go higher in the modeling business, someone might see that he dated you and assume that's the only reason he got the magazine cover.” Gordon pointed out. 

“Anyone who looks at Bill can see that he was born for it.” Damian replied, “A photographer would have to be blind, deaf, and mute.”

“Besides,” Bill said sharply, siting up straight in his chair, “I don't even know if I want to pursue modeling as a permanent career.”

Conversation at the table ceased for several tense beats. Everyone was looking at Bill, but Bill could only feel the heat and questioning in Damian's gaze. Bill sank back down his chair, flushing profusely. He hadn't meant to break that news to Damian in front of his parents; the angry retort had simply jumped from his lips.

“And I don't think I want to pursue dinner any further either.” He added, rising from his chair and throwing his napkin down over his plate.

“Bill.” Simone sighed.

“Young man, we are not finished eating here.” Gordon said, kicking his chair back, “It's rude to leave the table while dinner is still in progress.”

“I'm not hungry. May I be excused?” Bill replied, tone dripping with fake sincerity, “Thank you.”

He turned and left the dining room, fighting back a wave of angry tears. Only Gordon could reduce him to that same weak, sniveling teen he had been two years ago. Only Gordon could anger him that quickly. He wanted to lunge across that table and throttle the man, but he knew all he could do was walk away – and maybe never come back.

He paused at the couch to pull his cigarettes and lighter from his jacket pocket before slipping out the front door. The temperature was cool and slightly windy, but he ignored the chill as he quickly lit a cigarette. He greedily sucked the first hit of nicotine in, relishing it's calming affects. It was Gordon who had first driven him to smoking, and it was likely the habit would kill him. But he knew he would never quit. Cigarettes were his only true friend.

Bill glanced up when the front door opened and Damian exited the house.

“Hey.” He said, sympathetically.

“What did I tell you?” Bill muttered, shaking his head.

“I'm really sorry.” Damian replied, putting a hand on Bill's back, “He's a piece of work. I can see why you didn't want to come.”

“A piece of work?” Bill echoed, “You don't even know the half of it.”

Damian was quiet for several moments before he spoke in quiet tones, “Why didn't you tell me before?”

“What?”

“That you didn't want to model anymore?” Damian replied, sounding slightly hurt.

“Because . . . I'm not ready to move on yet.” Bill replied, “And I know it's the only thing I have going for me right now. Besides, I'm working with you, so that makes it okay.”

“So that's all modeling is to you?” Damian asked, “Just okay?”

“Damian.” Bill sighed, briefly glancing at Damian's sad expression before focusing on his shoes, “I'm sorry, I just . . . I didn't want to make you feel like you were forcing me to do it. No one's forcing me, I'm just . . . I'm not willing to commit to it for the rest of my life.”

“Then what is it you want?”

“I don't know.” Bill insisted, pushing his cigarette between his lips and drawing a deep breath, “It's not that easy.”

“Do you want to quit?” Damian asked, softly.

“Right now?” Bill looked up sharply, “No. I just said that. I'm not ready to move on. I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do . . . Who I am . . .”

“I thought who you were was my boyfriend.” Damian replied in a whisper.

Bill winced and felt the sting of tears in his eyes, “It is . . . I just . . .I don't know, Damian. You've known since you were how old what you want to do with your life? You've been a photographer since you were teenager! You're thirty years old now, and you have a steady, successful career. I'm only nineteen, Damian. I'm still trying to figure it out! Excuse me if I don't have some big, huge plan to take over the world!”

“I'm sorry.” Damian replied, scraping a hand through his hair, “You're right. I'm just . . . I was happy with the thought that we could do this together for the rest of our lives. But maybe that's not how it's going to be.”

His eyes were downcast as he turned to walk back into the house. Bill caught onto his sleeve, pulling him back around with a low cry, “Damian, please.”

“What?”

“We're not breaking up.” Bill insisted, perhaps too harshly, “I'm just . . . I'm trying to figure everything out – and fucking Gordon is not helping.” He pointed a sharp finger toward the interior of the house, “I told you this wasn't going to work . . .”

“We can't leave like this.” Damian said, lifting his chin, “Gordon is never going to respect you, much less our relationship, if we leave on a bad note like this.”

“You know what? I don't care.” Bill spat, pacing across the porch, “He can go fuck himself! I don't give a damn what he thinks about me, or about us! He is  _never_ going to give me, or us, his approval.” He stormed back across the porch to glare into Damian's startled expression with fiery eyes, “Do you understand me? That man degraded me, hated me, tore me down, judged me, and hurt me every day for five years of my life. He is never, ever going to accept me, much less our relationship. So you might as well give up trying right now.” 

Damian glanced away, his expression pained. They were both quiet for several moments before Damian reached up to cradle Bill's face. He shifted closer, blowing warm breaths across Bill's cold, windblown cheeks.

“I'm sorry.” He murmured, “I'm sorry for what he's done to you.”

“I am not asking for your sympathy!” Bill cried, wrenching himself from Damian's grasp, “I am asking for your apathy!”

“Bill . . .” Damian whispered, reaching out a hand for him.

“No!” Bill cried, throwing his cigarette hard at the ground, “I am done with this bullshit. I want us to leave here and never think about Gordon again. Just erase this moment from our memories forever. His opinion doesn't matter anyway!”

“What about your mother?” Damian asked, poising his hands on his hips.

The remark brought Bill's angry thoughts to a screeching halt. His mother. His dear, gentle mother, who had tried so hard to mend their relationship these past two years. How could he leave her with a monster? How could he walk away and forget?

“Shit.” Bill whispered, wiping his eyes, “Shit. Fuck.”

“Just take a minute to calm down.” Damian suggested, “We'll go back inside, say our niceties and then leave. Okay?”

Bill drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to loosen the knot in his throat. He didn't open his eyes as he agreed, “Okay.”

Damian opened the door and let Bill inside first. As they entered the kitchen, Bill saw Simone standing at the sink, piling up dirty dishes. Gordon was nowhere in sight. Simone's shoulders shook gently, while she sniffed quietly.

Bill immediately felt a pang of remorse. Simone had wanted just a few hours with him, and he had turned it into an argument. Granted, Gordon was also partially to blame, but Bill hadn't tried very hard to keep his anger under control.

Bill held up a hand to Damian, motioning for his boyfriend to stay in the living room while he approached his mother.

“Hey,” He whispered, touching her back lightly, “I'm sorry.”

She quickly wiped her eyes and turned to face him. Her watery gaze briefly met his before drifting to the floor.

“It's okay, honey.” She murmured, “I know it wasn't your fault.”

“It sort of was.” Bill replied.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her middle, “I suppose you'll want to get on your way now.”

Bill bit his lower lip and glanced across the dirty plates and leftovers. She had toiled over this meal most of the day, only to have it end in ruination.

“I can help you some.” Bill suggested.

“Are you sure?” She asked, though her eyes brightened.

“Yeah.” Bill replied, offering a weak smile, “It's the least I can do.”

A smile formed on her lips and she leaned in to wrap her arms around his waist. Bill returned the hug warmly, savoring that sweet, fleeting moment of security.

As they parted, he patted her shoulder.

“I should let Damian know.” He said, hooking a finger toward the living room.

“Sure.”

Bill wandered into the living room where Damian sat on the couch, scrolling absently through his phone.

“Hey, I'm gonna stay a little bit and help my mom clean up.” Bill said, lingering a few feet away.

“That's good.” Damian replied, “Maybe I can help too.”

“Oh no, you don't have to.” Bill said, shaking his head, “I'm doing it because it's half my fault for losing my temper like that.”

“It's fine.” Damian waved a hand as he rose from the couch, “I don't mind. Your mother has been more than gracious to me.”

“Okay.” Bill agreed, quietly.

When they both appeared in the kitchen, Simone frowned and put her hands on her hips, “Putting Damian to work with you, Bill?”

“No, he volunteered.” Bill replied.

“You don't have to, sweetie.” Simone said, waving a hand at Damian.

“I'm more than happy to help.” Damian replied, already reading for several dirty dishes on the table, “With the three of us, we can get this done faster.”

Simone gave in with a sincere “thank you” and they all got to work, putting away condiments, piling the dishwasher full and scraping leftovers into containers. While they cleaned up the kitchen, Simone asked them questions about work and their relationship; Bill answered what he thought he could without revealing his internal conflict.

At last, Simone cast them a serious gaze and noted, “So, it seems pretty serious.”

Damian and Bill glanced at each other for a few moments before Bill replied, “Well, it's only been eight months, Mom.”

“I think when you know, you know.” She shrugged and smiled sweetly.

“Yeah.” Bill muttered, not meeting her gaze, “You do.”

“I think you're right, Mrs. Trumper.” Damian replied. He edged closer to Bill and reached out a long arm to pull Bill against his side, “I'm pretty serious about, Bill. He's the most beautiful, talented, and smart man I've ever met – much less had the privilege of dating.”

Bill squirmed and blushed deep pink, “Damian, stop . . .”

“It's true.” Simone agreed with Damian, chuckling, “That's my son.”

“Guys, I'm tired.” Bill said, lithely slipping from Damian's arm, “I think I'm gonna lie down on the couch if you don't mind finishing this.”

“Of course not.” Simone said, shaking her head, “Go ahead, honey.”

Bill escaped the room, blinking back the first glaze of moisture in his eyes. It felt as if someone was twisting his stomach into a dozen knots and driving a knife into his heart. How could he even think of breaking up with Damian when Damian was so sweet and loving to him? How had he even found the apathy to cheat?

Bill sank to the couch, curling up in a tight ball and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to block the memory of that strange man's lips on his, those rough hands greedily caressing his skin and searching for entrance.

 _Why can't I just love him?_ His mind raged against his unfaithful heart, _Why does it have to be so hard?_

The answer came swiftly. The truth he had kept locked inside himself for so long had been simply and clearly spoken by his own mother. When you know, you know.

With Tom, he had always known.

With Damian, he was drowning, waiting for the day his head finally slipped beneath the water.

 

 

 


	37. Cessation

 

From his position at the archway into the kitchen, Damian sipped on the glass of white wine Simone had handed him, and watched Bill slumber on the couch. His beautiful boyfriend's slender body was draped across the couch, immobile in a deep sleep. With his cheek pressed into the pillow, his lips puckered and fell open, giving him the look of a cherub.

Damian sighed quietly.

He was so serene in sleep, yet so volatile in waking – somewhere between the cold of blizzard and the heat of an erupting volcano. Damian wished he could truly know his lover's heart, but the thing he sought so fervently forever lay shrouded in barbs of fear and distrust. He had accepted very early that loving Bill would be like crushing a beautiful red rose to his naked skin, admiring its beauty and perfection while bleeding as the thorns pierced him; but on days like these, he wasn't quite sure the glory outmatched the pain.

“Should I wake him?” Simone asked, quietly, approaching Damian's side, “You two probably want to get home before it's too late.”

“No.” Damian whispered, “Let him sleep. God knows he needs it.”

Simone frowned and took a slow sip of her own wineglass.

“How is he?” She asked after several moments of silence, “I mean, really. He looks so grown up and put together, and he tells me he's doing just fine, but . . .”

Damian scraped a hand through his hair and shook his head, “I don't know if I can answer that question.”

Simone's frown deepened. She grasped his arm lightly and led him back into the kitchen so that the sound of their voices wouldn't awaken Bill.

“Things aren't going okay, are they?” She asked, softly.

Damian bit his lower lip to halt a defensive retort. She wasn't trying to pry; she was simply worried about her son's welfare, and Damian couldn't blame her.

“I don't know.” Damian sighed, sinking to one of the chairs around the table, “Some days he seems okay and happy. Other days, I'm not sure what planet he's on. Lately he hasn't been sleeping well, having nightmares . . . It really concerns me.”

“He's been like that for awhile now. It comes and goes.” Simone confirmed, sadly.

“Why?” Damian asked, tone laced with pain, “I mean . .. Can you please explain Bill to me? I feel as if there's things I don't understand. Things he hasn't told me.”

Simone pursed her lips and gazed down into her wineglass for a few beats of silence. Damian could hear her draw in a deep, shuddering breath – the kind derived from the pain that had lived long and far too healthy in one's ribcage.

“I met Gordon when Bill was thirteen.” Simone began, quietly, “His father had just died two years before. Bill really took Jorg's death hard, so I suppose the introduction of another father figure so soon was difficult. But the way I saw it then, I didn't have much of a choice. We were living in this awful apartment that got bought up by a company looking to build office structures. I didn't want our home to be destroyed, so I went straight to the top, begging for mercy. I met with the CEO, and I suppose I impressed him with my gall.”

“It was Gordon's business?” Damian surmised.

Simone nodded and smiled wistfully, “He was younger then, and not so angry.”

“I talked to Bill about him earlier.” Damian revealed

Simone's expression clouded over. A deep frown showed lines in her face that weren't always visible.

“I know about the abuse.” Damian added, softly.

Simone's eyes darkened and she glanced away, “Perhaps you think I'm a terrible mother, that I should have done something.”

Damian shook his head, “That's the thing about men like Gordon. They have everyone too scared to talk.”

Simone bit back a cry as a tear slipped down her cheek, “They used to get in these terrible fights . . . I can still remember sitting in my room, listening to them shout through the walls. And then, it would go quiet and all I could hear was the the belt . . . hitting him over and over again.”

Damian tore his gaze away from Simone's wretched expression. His chest ached with anger and pain, furiously wishing he could change the past.

“For awhile, I thought it was Gordon that made him that way.” Simone whispered, “And I'm sure it partially was. But, the older he got, the more it seemed I was losing him. He was so angry and depressed all the time. The fights with Gordon got worse. I wanted to do something, but I felt completely helpless. Bill wouldn't talk to me; he wouldn't talk to anyone.”

“How old was he now?” Damian asked, quietly.

“Things got really bad about a year later, when Bill was fourteen.” Simone said, wiping at the tears on her cheeks with a napkin, “He was having so much trouble in school. He grades were really failing, so we got him a tutor.”

“Bill, having a tutor?” Damian asked with a bare smile as he tried to imagine Bill taking direction from a stranger on how to do his homework.

Simone lifted her shoulders slightly, “We had to try. It wasn't until later that I realized things got worse rather than better after the tutor.”

“Why do you think that is?” Damian questioned.

Simone gazed at him, balking to speak further with her lower lip between her teeth. Damian searched her face, watching as fresh tears sprang into her eyes her face began to twist with sorrow. Swallowing hard, Damian felt his lungs begin to close with some kind of sick panic.

“Please, don't say . . .”

“I should have seen it.” Simone whispered, cradling her face in both hands, “I should have seen that man was hurting him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Damian whispered, clutching his fist to his mouth.

“He never told me.” Simone continued in a broken voice, “I had to stand back and watch him suffer, only hoping to guess at what was stealing my son from me. I knew it wasn't just Gordon; it was something worse. I was watching my child shrink away into nothing, retreating from everyone and everything.” She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes with the crumpled napkin before continuing more quietly, “He must have hated himself, being abused in so many ways.”

Damian swallowed hard to loosen the knot in his throat. His eyes stung with tears, and if not for the present company, he may have fallen into a heap of despair. He had never imagined so many things could have happened to his Bill; now he felt as if he would never be a good enough man to repair the damage to his boyfriend's heart.

“How did you find out?” Damian managed to speak at last.

Simone shook her head slowly as she spoke, “It wasn't until after that trip to Montana that I began seeing things a different way – seeing them from his side. It just dawned on me, I suppose, thinking back on all the ways he had changed from the happy little boy I raised.”

“I'm sorry, what trip?” Damian asked, frowning, “Bill never told me about a trip to Montana.”

Simone sniffed back lingering tears, “We sent him to this horse ranch in Montana the summer of junior year. Some . . . things happened. I don't think he would want me to talk about it, though.”

Damian eyed Simone across the table, noting the square of her shoulders and the tilt of her jaw. He doubted she would say much more to reveal Bill's secrets; he didn't judge her, but rather admired her. As Bill had once told Damian, she was protecting her son with every ounce of strength after admitted failure in the past.

“Does it have anything to do with someone named 'Tom'?” Damian asked, despite Simone's defense.

Realization sparked in Simone's eyes, but she quickly glanced away before her eyes could betray anything further.

“The other night, Bill was calling out for him.” Damian continued, “At the moment, I was happy to have him lie and say put my mind at ease that there wasn't some else. But now I have a feeling it's more complicated than that.”

“I'm sorry he makes you worry about his loyalty.” Simone said, rising from the table, “But I can't discuss it with you without getting blowback for it.”

“So, there was a man named 'Tom'?” Damian pushed.

Simone's jaw clenched. Holding up a hand, she firmly stated, “There was. And that's all I can say. If you want to know more, you'll have to risk asking Bill about it.”

“Risk?”

“I promise you, he won't be happy.” Simone said, “It's best forget about it and move on. Leave the past in the past.”

Damian let it go, knowing Simone wouldn't budge any further.

He sat at the dining room table, sipping the last of his wine, and pondering all the things Simone had told him. It made him sick inside to know that Bill had been sexually abused at such a young age, beside the beatings from Gordon. Looking back at his own childhood, he realized with a tinge of unnecessary guilt that his life had been so easy and care-free. Both of his parents had loved him unconditionally, and sacrificed to send him to a prestigious college in the United States so that he could follow his dreams. He had never feared an authority figure that might hurt him, and he had given his virginity away of his own free will.

Putting their lives side by side, Damian hopelessly wondered how he would ever get through to Bill. How could he sympathize and heal Bill's wounds, when he knew nothing of that type of pain? How did he stand a chance to fill the void with happiness when there was already so much sorrow?

The next time Damian glanced at his watch, it was past eleven o'clock and Bill was still fast asleep on the couch.

“I hate to wake him.” He commented to Simone, who sat on the recliner reading a magazine.

“You know, you two are free to stay the night.” Simone offered, “I have a guest bedroom just down the hall all set up.”

“Are you sure?” Damian asked.

“Of course! It's late already, and I don't want to force you to drive out in the dark and cold when you both are tired.” Simone replied, “Leave a note for Bill if he wakes up, and you can take the guest bedroom.”

Damian hesitated for only a minute longer. The precarious balance of calm between Gordon and Bill concerned him, but he thought they could leave early enough in the morning to avoid another fight.

“All right.” Damian sighed, “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” Simone smiled. Setting aside her magazine, she rose from the recliner and showed him down the hall to the bedroom. Damian scribbled out a quick note to Bill and placed it next to the lamp. Dropping a light kiss on Bill's forehead, he turned out the lights and retreated to the guest bedroom.

The bed was unfamiliar and cold without Bill beside him. Sleep evaded him for an hour or more as his mind turned over his conversation with Simone. After tonight, he wasn't sure things would ever be the same.

 

~

 

Bill suffered in a tormenting dream that looped like one part of movie skipping over and over again. He was running down a dark hallway, bordered on either side by school lockers. Up ahead, he could see an EXIT sign, glowing in the darkness, yet just out of his reach. He would run and run until his lungs burned and his legs ached, but he would never get any closer to the sign. Hot breath poured down his neck, rushing like hellfire from between the lips of the man chasing him. Eventually, a pair of hands seized him, throwing him to the floor. Fighting and struggling, he attempted to squirm free and run, but the man always managed to pin him down and hurt him.

At last, Bill fought his way out of the dream and back into reality. He sat up sat up gasping, and pawing the empty air to fight off the unseen assailant.

The room was dark, quiet, and unfamiliar. For a moment, Bill couldn't remember where the hell he was. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Gordon and Simone's living room came into focus. Bill let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the couch cushions. He was sweating, his heart still pounding even though he knew the dream was gone.

He reached out with a long arm and turned the lamp on. Squinting against the bright light, he plucked the small note from the table and read Damian's handwriting.

_Your mother said we could stay the night. If you wake up before morning, come join me in the guest bedroom. Love, Damian_

Bill dropped the note back on the table and clasped both hands over his face. A low groan worked its way up his throat. He doubted he would catch much more sleep tonight. Climbing into bed with Damian would succeed only in disturbing Damian's sleep and having them both disgruntled by morning.

Shaking off the remnants of the dream, Bill rose from the couch and wandered into the kitchen. He moved stealthily about the kitchen, plucking a glass from the cabinet and quickly pouring himself some wine from the half empty bottle in the refrigerator. The sharp taste drove away the dryness of his mouth, and he relished the flavor even though wine wasn't his favorite beverage.

Bill took his wine back into the living room and hunted up his cigarettes. He lounged on the couch in a cloud of smoke and dour mood, ready to face the last few hours before daylight with as much alcohol and nicotine as he could manage.

Defenses still on the rise, Bill jumped when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He relaxed only a bit when Gordon entered the living room in his silk pajamas, eyes bleary with sleep.

“You're still here?” His stepfather mumbled as he headed for the kitchen.

“Mom said we could stay.” Bill replied, sipping his wine.

“Drinking all our wine, I see.” Gordon replied from inside the kitchen.

Bill rolled his eyes, not deigning to reply. He could hear Gordon running water from the tap and a pill bottle rattling around. Tapping his foot impatiently, he wished Gordon would take his medicine and go back to bed so that Bill could drink and smoke in peace.

“That Damian sure is something.” Gordon added, his voice echoing from inside the kitchen.

“Yeah, he's the fucking best.” Bill replied, puffing at his cigarette to keep from saying more.

“Better than I expected from you.”

Bill rolled his eyes and blew a plume of smoke from between his lips. When he was younger and stupider, he may have started a fight with Gordon over that comment, but age and experience had taught him to choose his battles – especially with his stepfather.

“Are you serious about him?” Gordon asked, rounding the corner to look Bill in the eye.

“Eight months is pretty serious for me.” Bill replied, not looking up. He took a rapid sip of his wine and wiped the moisture from his lips, “And he treats me right. It's more than I can ask for.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow. He appeared to open to his lips to remark, when a coughing fit interrupted his sarcasm. Bill smoked fasting, intolerant to Gordon's grating cough. He'd had it since Bill could remember, but it never ceased to bother him.

Gordon grunted, at last containing the cough. He waved a hand at Bill as he shuffled toward the hallway, “If you ask me, he's too good.”

Bill shook his head, clenching his hands into fists.

“Go to hell.” He muttered under his breath.

His head swung like a puppet on a string when a loud thump and groan came from across the room. His gaze cut across the room just fast enough to catch a glimpse of Gordon slipping to the ground, his face twisted in pain. Jumping up off the couch, Bill began to rush across the room out of automatic surprise.

“Holy shit.” Bill whispered, clutching one hand in his hair as he approached his stepfather.

Gordon lay on his side, arm crossed over his chest to grasp his opposite shoulder. His body was stiff and shivering, his face flushed bright red. Pain slashed across his features and gleamed bright in his eyes, shocking and vivid.

Bill's adrenaline fueled steps came to a faltering halt. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and his limbs trembling in shock. The low whines coming from Gordon's throat sounded like a wild animal dying, enduring traumatic pain.

Bill's first reaction was to grab the phone and dial 911, or at least rush to his mother's room. It was the human thing to do.

But as Bill stood over his stepfather's weak, trembling body a sense of twisted power and justice filled his head. Every moment of pain, anger, and humiliation flashed through his brain – every moment Gordon had degraded him, yelled at him, hurt him . . . hurt his mother. The rage that had been building for years over every small incident converged on his brain in that moment, smothering any thought of mercy or humanity.

Bill took a slow step backwards as he met Gordon's dimming eyes. A shallow breath, like winter's chill, stole from between his parted lips.

For the first time in a long time, he believed in quiet wishes.

_Go to hell._

 

~

 

Red and blue flashed across Bill's face like strobe lights, burning into his wide open, foggy eyes. The front porch of his mother's house was cold and hard through the seat of his pants, but he was hardly inclined to move.

He watched, face void of emotion, as two EMT's rolled a stretcher past him, carrying away Gordon's dead body. The shell of Bill's body was composed and expressionless, but a war waged itself deep in his heart, conscience against victory.

“Are you okay?” Damian murmured as he crouched down beside Bill.

A warm, familiar hand settled between Bill's shoulder blades; despite the gentility, it took all of Bill's strength not to wrench away. He feared the simple caress of Damian's hand would reveal the nature of Bill's deceit.

“How do you think I feel?” Bill asked, quietly.

“I'm sorry.” Damian replied, retrieving his hand, “Finding Gordon like that … It's not something you can just forget.”

Bill pursed his lips and swallowed back the sting of tears.

“I know you two didn't get along, but that doesn't prepare you for death.” Damian continued, situating himself on the step next to Bill, “I'll do all I can to help you.”

“Thank you, but what I'd really like is space.” Bill replied, his voice ragged and hollow.

A frown flickered across Damian's brow, but after only a few moments of hesitation, he rose from the step. As Damian wandered back into the house, Bill lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.

His brief moment of victory had collapsed through to a gaping underground of unforeseen regret, volatile at best. His hatred for Gordon paled in comparison to having someone's life and death held in his fragile hands. Standing over Gordon, he had thought he could handle the loathsome man's death, but as the gravity of the situation settled in, he wished he could rewind back to that moment and choose to dial 911.

As Simone drifted like a ghost from the house, following the tracks of the EMT's, Bill felt a macabre shudder ripple through his body. Tears stained Simone's face. Her whole body shivered like a leaf caught in a windstorm, liable to snap at any moment.

Bill starkly recalled the loss of his father, and then the less dramatic but no less painful loss of Tom. In that moment, he knew – he knew he would regret this moment for the rest of his miserable life.

 

~

 

Bill pulled his wool Dior coat tighter across his chest as a cold wind swept across the cemetery. Steely gray clouds settled over the horizon, blocking out any hint of sun.

The funeral procession drifted in black-garbed groups across the dying grass, leaving behind freshly turned dirt and a massive, glistening headstone.

“I'll drive you to the reception.” Damian suggested, laying a hand on Bill's lower back.

Bill sighed and dipped his chin lower into his scarf, “I don't think I wanna go.”

Damian frowned and shook his head, “Bill, you are family of the deceased. I don't know if skipping the reception is an option.”

Bill sniffed and squinted against the cold wind, mentally cursing Gordon for dying in the dead of winter. He didn't meet Damian's questioning gaze as he quietly replied, “He was no family to me, and I have my own car to drive.”

“Bill, your mother isn't going to be very happy if-”

“Oh who gives a damn?” Bill snapped, wrenching away from Damian's hand, “I don't want to go and that's the end of it.”

Damian glanced around at the other member's of the funeral party, a mixture of worry and irritation creasing his brow. Loose curls fluttered around his temple and cheeks, momentarily reminding Bill of the man who had once been able to convince him to do anything. Eight months seemed so long ago that he had fatefully fallen for the beautiful man standing across from him.

“I'm sorry.” Bill murmured, lowering his head, “I didn't mean to yell at you, I just ...”

“No, I understand.” Damian replied, shortly, lifting a hand to stop Bill's apologies, “He abused you and-”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Bill interrupted, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He rocked on his heels, sinking his boots into the cold ground, “And I'm not asking for your sympathy. So just tell my mom I didn't feel good.”

Before Damian could reply, Bill turned and marched away from the cemetery grounds to where his Audi was parked. He flung himself inside and forcefully twisted the key into the ignition, all the while fighting back hot tears.

His mother would be horribly disappointed with him for skipping the dinner, and Damian would likely be disapproving for days. But Bill didn't care. He was sick of accepting everyone's condolences, plastering a fake smile on his face, and pretending like he had genuinely cared about his stepfather.

He was regretful over watching Gordon die, but he wasn't sorry the man was finally gone. He wouldn't change it, even as mercy pleaded he have a heart.

Speeding away from the cemetery, Bill pulled out his cellphone and dialed the number of the only person he knew would understand.

“Hey, honey, how are you?” Andreja asked, after picking up on the second ring.

“Do you have alcohol?” Bill asked, bypassing pleasantries for the obvious.

“Um … yes.”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course, Billy. But, sweetie, maybe you should just slow down for a second and allow yourself to grieve and-”

“I'm not grieving him, Andreja.” Bill spat, clutching the wheel, white-knuckled, as he raced under a yellow light, “He's gone, and I'm glad for it. Now can we get back to the original question?”

“Well, I know you're already half way here, so the door is open.” Andreja replied, without further argument.

“Great.” Bill said, eyes flashing the mirrors just in case Damian had vainly decided to follow him, “I can't wait.”

He dropped the phone onto the passengers seat and leaned his head back against the rest with a long, deep sigh. Dashing away a stray tear on his pale cheek, he resolved not to cry about the situation any longer.

Gordon was gone. Bill had done nothing to save him.

It was done. Over with. No going back.

All there was left to do was drink, and get back to work. And maybe, just maybe, manage to retain a grasp on the parts of himself that seemed to be slowly slipping away with each and every loss.

 


	38. Departure

Bill winced as the door clicked shut, a little too loudly in the nighttime quiet of the house. His heart pounded anxiously in his chest as he fumbled for his cellphone, and used the LED screen to barely illuminate the dark hallway.

His heart sank as he rounded the corner into the living room and noticed the light emanating from the open door of Damian's office.

Bill scraped a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. He was alcohol-soaked and tipsy – not in any condition for a fight. At least, not one he would win.

Chewing anxiously on his lower lip, Bill shoved the phone back in his pocket and crept toward the stairwell. If he could just sneak upstairs, and sleep it off for the night, he might be able to have a reasonable conversation with his boyfriend.

“Bill? Is that you?”

Bill froze on the third step, his heart dropping. With a low sigh, he slowly turned to look at Damian. Damian emerged from his office, wearing his pajamas and looking weary.

“Where have you been?”

“Out.” Bill replied, “It's not even that late-”

“You've been 'out',” Damian replied, making jagged air-quotes, “for the past four nights.”

“So what.” Bill replied, shrugging, “It's a free country right?”

“Yeah it is.” Damian said, his brow furrowing deeply, “But if I didn't know it was Andreja you were going out with, this conversation would have happened a long time ago.”

“So now you're my parent?” Bill snapped.

He stomped a few steps higher, anger bubbling in his chest. The same anger he remembered when, as a teenager, Gordon had stopped him countless times from going out with his friends.

“No, I'm you're boyfriend.” Damian countered, his volume rising to match Bill's. Rushing to the foot of the stairs, he gazed up at Bill's hardened expression, a blend of sadness and frustration in his dark eyes, “And boyfriends spend time together, cuddle and watch movies at night, make love ...”

Bill drew in a low breath and let his gaze drop to his feet. Guilt pierced his heart, but he crushed the pangs back into the muffling range of his anger.

“I'm sorry, Damian.” Bill replied, stiffly, “But I just have a lot going on. I don't feel much like being romantic and having sex.”

“Can you at least talk to me?” Damian asked, quietly, reaching up to touch Bill's fingers.

“It's just … Gordon.” Bill murmured, rubbing a thumb and forefinger across his aching forehead, “I'd rather just forget about it, and I forget best when I'm having fun and drinking.”

Pulling his fingers out of Damian's grasp, Bill grabbed the railing and pulled his weak body up toward the safety of the bedroom.

“Bill, it has been three months.” Damian insisted, following Bill up the stairs, “Maybe it's time to break down and ask for help.”

“Help?” Bill threw up his hands, “Help from who, Damian?”

“Someone who understands-”

“I don't know anyone who understands what the fuck I have been through.” Bill hissed, spinning around to face Damian just as he reached the top of the stairs.

Damian's eyes flicked away from Bill's cold demeanor, but not fast enough to hide his thoughts.

“Oh my god.” Bill said, crossing his arms, “You think I need to see a fucking shrink.”

Damian said, and raised a hand, “Bill-”

“No.” Bill snapped, taking a step back, “No, Damian. I have been to enough therapists in my life to know they don't do a goddamn thing.”

“I have money. I wouldn't send you to anyone but the best.” Damian argued, “I just want to see you get better.”

“That's what my parents said.” Bill whispered, through clenched teeth, pointing a sharp finger in Damian's face, “I don't need anyone climbing around inside my head, tinkering with all the broken parts, and trying to make it work again.”

“Bill, I'm sorry.” Damian whispered, his eyes glistening softly in the darkness of the hall.

He reached out to touch Bill's shoulders, but Bill wrenched away. A tear streaked down his cheek as he added, in a guttural voice, “For once, I just need someone who cares.”

Whipping around, he stomped to the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He sank to his butt on the floor, just as the tears rose up to snare him. Moisture sprang down his cheeks, and a low moan he barely recognized as his own twisted from his throat.

He listened, waiting for Damian to come to the door and knock, begging for Bill to let him in. He waited for that familiar voice that would persuade him to open the door. But it never came – and that, more than the realization that he was broken, maybe this time for good, hurt like a knife in his chest.

 

~

 

There was a single, perfect moment before waking – a moment in between dreaming and consciousness – where Bill couldn't remember anything. So memory, no sadness, no scars, no worries. He was never conscious enough to fully enjoy that moment, but every morning, he wished he could stay in that suspended fraction of time.

As the sun filtering through the curtains and the familiar smell of fresh bedsheets nudged him awake, he found that precious little moment extend – if only for a fragile second.

Damian sat on the bed next to him, a hand stroking Bill's cheekbone. Bill mumbled indistinctly and rolled closer to his boyfriend, eyes drifting open to relish the peace he felt with Damian gazing down at him lovingly.

“Good morning.” Damian said.

“Morning.” Bill replied, stretching out until his toes almost reached the end of the bed, “What are you...”

His sentence withered as the memory of the last night's fight splashed cold, black across the lovely, morning scene.

“Damian.” He whispered, looking up at the other man fearfully.

“Come on, get up.” Damian replied, rising from the edge of the bed, “There's breakfast downstairs.”

Bill fumbled to disentangle his long legs from the bedsheets and follow Damian out of the bedroom.

Every stinging word from the fight burned itself in his brain, ushering in yet another terrifying thought.

_Why wasn't Damian saying anything about it?_

Bill grabbed his robe from the end of the bed and wrapped it loosely around his middle as he rushed down the steps. Normally, he didn't venture downstairs until he had brushed back his mane of hair and made himself presentable; today, the sickening feeling in his gut pushed aside vanity.

Bill's steps came to a halt as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His heart dropped, and for a moment, he could hardly breathe.

On the right, the scent of bacon and eggs drifted from the kitchen, while on the left, several bags of luggage waited in the middle of the living room.

Fresh tears swelled in his eyes. He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of a sob working it's way up his throat. The image of the packed bags kept his eyes captive, like the grotesque ending of a horror film.

_This can't be happening!_

_Damian, no, please..._

_What if it's just a business trip? Maybe everything is fine!_

_But I yelled at him, I-_

“Bill,” Damian interrupted the panicky thoughts as he exited the kitchen, “Breakfast is getting cold.”

“Damian, what …?” Bill gasped, throwing a trembling hand toward the packed bags.

Damian sighed, his gaze breaking off from Bill's. He said nothing, but Bill saw the cold, hard truth in his eyes.

“Damian, wait.” Bill whispered, his voice choking, “I'm sorry about last night; I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I didn't mean to yell at you, please-”

“Bill.” Damian interrupted, holding up both hands.

Bill drew back, a tear gushing down his cheek, “Damian.” He whimpered.

“You won't change my mind.” Damian replied, with a sigh, “It's too much, Bill.”

“Damian, please, I can try.” Bill whispered, clutching Damian's hands with both of his, “I know I haven't been very good to you lately, but I can do better. I can-”

“I just need some space.” Damian said, gently pulling his hands out of Bill's.

“Space? We both know what that means.” Bill insisted.

“I offered you help. You don't want it.” Damian replied with a slow shrug, “There's not much else I can do here, Bill.”

Bill leaned heavily against the door frame, tears throbbing behind his eyelids. Hanging his head, he cradled his face with both hands. His whole world was crumbling; the one solid foundation he'd had was leaving him.

“But this is your house.” Bill said, lifting his head sharply.

“I have an apartment in the city.” Damian replied, “I'm going to stay there for awhile, closer to work. You can stay here if you like, but I'm thinking about selling it.”

Bill swallowed hard and wiped at his eyes, “Because of me?”

Damian let out a deep sigh, “Because of us, Bill.”

“This is over, isn't it?” Bill whispered, trying to stem the tears that rushed freely from his eyes, “Because of what I did. This is my fault.”

“Look,” Damian said, gently taking Bill's face in both his hands, “I was going to sit you down over breakfast and try to break it to you gently. I was going to tell you that it's not all your fault. It would be a lie to say I don't want to blame you, but I know there's some things you can't change about yourself. I was going to tell you I wanted to help you and be the one that made you complete again – but I know I can't be.”

“Damian.” Bill cried, his voice dwindling into a pained moan.

“Don't.” Damian murmured, laying a soft fingertip against Bill's lips, “I love you, baby, but some things aren't meant to be. I wanted to fight for us, but last night was the final straw. It made me realize I'm not going to be the one.”

“Damian, please … Don't leave me.” Bill whimpered, clutching the front of Damian's shirt.

“I can't stay.” Damian replied, his eyes sorrowful, “Bill, I can't be just an acquaintance, or just friends. I can't stay in your life if I can't have you … So I have to go.”

Damian bent and softly, all too briefly, kissed Bill's trembling lips. Bill reached out to hold on longer, but Damian was gone. He walked briskly across the room, gathered his suitcases and marched out the door, hardly looking back.

Bill stared in shocked, painful silence for several moments after the door shut behind Damian. He waited for Damian to come back. Waited for Damian to say it was all a mistake. He waited to wake up from this horrible nightmare. He waited until he heard the car doors slam, the engine rev, and his boyfriend – his lover, his savior, his Damian – drive away.

Slowly sinking to the bottom stair step, Bill gathered his robe around his slender, shaking limbs and began to cry in earnest. He couldn't help but think that it was happening to him all over again – being separated from the man he loved. He had never thought it would be so, but Damian's departure hurt nearly worse than Tom's – perhaps because this time, it was Bill cowering on the ground in pain, instead of hardening his heart and walking away.

 

~

 

“You want to talk about it?”

Bill hardly looked up when Simone softly posed the question. Leaning his head against the passenger side window, he watched as tiny droplets of rain streamed down the outside of the glass. Sunny L.A. was dark and overcast, just in time for the swelling tide of depression to swallow him up.

“Honey,” Simone reached over to squeeze his knee, “It's all gonna be okay.”

“Damian left me.” Bill whispered, using the sleeve of his oversized knit sweater to rub one watery eye, “How is it going to be okay?”

Simone sighed, softly, “Heartbreak is never easy. I won't lie to you.”

Bill chewed on his lower lip, reticent to his mother's commiseration. It was actually kind of nice that Simone was directing her full attention to him, treating him like the victim – but Bill knew better.

He wasn't a victim. He had purposefully, rigidly pushed Damian away.

“Look, you can stay in your old room as long as you want.” Simone changed the subject, “Lord knows what I'm going to do with that big house all by myself.”

Bill flicked a quick glance to the rear view mirror, taking inventory once more of all his belongings stuffed in the back of Simone's BMW. He had thrown half of his things in the dumpster outside Damian's house, not wanting to be reminded of the relationship now that they were both going separate ways.

“Are you sure about that?” Bill asked, “I remember a time when you couldn't wait for me to move out.”

“Things have changed, Bill.” She replied, glancing over at him with a bittersweet smile, “I would actually appreciate it, if you would stay for awhile. You know, we've both lost someone recently and...”

“Mom.” Bill reached over and grabbed her hand tightly.

If the sadness over Damian's departure wasn't enough, being with Simone reminded him with each passing minute, of the guilt he still felt over Gordon's death. How was he supposed to live with Simone every day without going insane with the need to confess?

“Oh, I'll be okay.” Simone muttered, quickly wiping her eye, “You were always telling me to live him … And he ended up leaving me. Ironic, hmm?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I loved him. God knows he didn't deserve it.” Simone said, gripping the wheel tighter, “But I couldn't help it.”

“Someone told me one time, love is about accepting both the good and the bad.” Bill murmured, tilting his temple against the headrest to observe his mother's downcast profile, “Loving someone for their flaws.”

“That's beautiful.” Simone said.

“It was.” Bill whispered, sudden emotion rising up to clench his throat.

Simone's eyes swung to him, quickly reading the fading nostalgia in his eyes.

“I know.” Bill muttered, swiping a hand over his eyes, “It was like three years ago and I should forget about it. I mean, we already have a fucking moratorium on the whole damn ordeal-”

“Bill.” Simone cut in.

“What?”

“I wasn't going to say that.”

Their conversation gave way to the steady hum of the tires over pavement, and the intermittent rattle of Bill's luggage in the backseat. Bill stared mutely at Simone for several moments, his mind turning. They hadn't spoken of the Ranch in years, surely not since he had moved out with Damian.

“I was actually going to say the opposite.” Simone said, at last.

“The opposite...”

Simone pursed her lips, and gave a low sigh, “I never wanted you to be torn away from him.”

“What are you saying?” Bill asked, his voice a low tremble.

“Gordon was sure he was hurting you, but I wasn't. All I saw was that my little boy was happy for the first time in years. For the first time since we lost your father.” Simone continued, passionately, “That's all I ever wanted for you, Bill – was to be happy.”

“You mean … Tom … You were okay with it?” Bill asked, shocked.

“I wasn't 'okay with it' per se … But I was hopeful.” Simone replied, wearily, “That night I called, and we got in a fight; you said when you turned eighteen, you were going to leave home and go live with Tom on the ranch. And you know, my parent's instinct was to say 'no' and keep you with me for the rest of your life. But a part of me whispered 'Good, get as far away from L.A. and Gordon as you possibly can.' I knew you were never going to thrive living with us. That's why I was so happy when you met Damian.”

Bill leaned heavily against the seat, his mind spinning.

“You never told me any of this.” He said, bewildered.

“Gordon didn't want me to, and it was all over – what was the point? But now with Gordon gone and Damian . . . It's all I can think about, because you were happy then, and I'm afraid you're never going to be again.”

Simone glanced over at him with tear-filled eyes. Squeezing his hand, she shook her head, sadly.

“It's been three years.” Bill said, turning his gaze out the window, to view the picturesque homes lining the sidewalks, “It's too late.”

Simone squeezed his hand harder, prompting him to look at her. Her hazel eyes were fierce as she whispered, “Bill, honey, it's never too late.”

 

~

 

_March 20 th, _

 

_I feel like my whole life has regressed back to my teen years. I'm living in my mom's house again, alone, wasting away time watching TV, and trying to find a job so I can move out. Worst of all, I'm alone. I've tried calling Damian, emailing him, texting, and I get nothing. I know he let me down really nicely but it still hurts like a bitch that he won't even pick up the goddamn phone._

_And the whole time I can't stop thinking about what Mom said about Tom. It's fucking twisted, but I have actually considered going back to that ranch. So much shit happened there and I'm still imagining going back and things will be exactly as they were. Cuz I'm done being mad and being scared about his past. I'm not even upset anymore that he tried to dump me the night Dirk and his asshole friends jumped me. I get it. I had him in an impossible situation that no sane person would go along with. Gordon was gonna find a way to hurt him, and well, a stupid summer romance just wasn't worth it. I only knew him for like three weeks but I'll be straight up honest... He was the first guy I actually loved and who loved me back. It'll be damned hard trying to forget that for the rest of my life._

_But hey, as much as I'd like to go back I know I can't. That ship has sailed, train left the station, whatever you wanna say. I ended things pretty harshly with him, and he would be stupid to accept me back. I don't want to, but I'm just gonna have to put Tom with all the other things that have happened to me. I have to put him in the back of my mind and heart with all the sad, painful, disgusting stuff I can't face-_

 

Bill's head swiveled up from it's focused pose over his journal when a light knocking came from his bedroom door. 

“What?”

The door cracked open slightly and Simone poked her head in, “I just wanted to see how it's going.”

Bill cast a withering gaze at his computer, which he had abandoned in favor of paper and pen.

“Not so well, hmm?” Simone murmured, stepping inside the room.

“Either no one is hiring, or I'm not looking in the right places.” He sighed, dropping his pen into the binding of the journal and flipping the small book shut, “Either way, I'm tired of looking.”

“You need a job, Bill.” Simone said, casting in a stern gaze.

“I know.” Bill said, scraping a hand through his hair, “I'm just running a little low on motivation.”

“I'm nervous to say this, but ...”

“What?”

“You couldn't keep your job at Damian's studio?” Simone asked, gently.

Bill snorted and shook his head, “Damian made it pretty clear he doesn't want me anywhere near him.”

“That doesn't mean you can't model at his studio.” Simone protested, “He's not that cold-hearted is he? He can't just dump you, and fire you at the same time ...”

“Oh yes he can.” Bill replied, coldly, “And I would deserve it too.”

“Bill, honey,” Simone soothed, crossing the room to stroke a hand through his hair, “That's not true.”

“Thanks, Mom, but you're the only one who thinks so.” Bill muttered.

“Then mine is the only opinion that matters.” She replied, bending down to kiss the top of his head, “Keep your chin up. Things will turn around.”

Bill squeezed her hand, “Thanks, Mom.”

Simone turned to leave the room, but paused with her hand on the doorknob, “I could talk to some people at the company.”

“You mean, work for Gordon?” Bill scoffed.

“Well, technically you'd be working for me.” Simone smiled, “But yes.”

Frowning, Bill momentarily considered Simone's offer. Working for Gordon's company, pushing papers, sitting in an office all day, wearing a suit and tie to work …

“It's not really my style.” Bill groused, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

“It's good money.” Simone pointed out.

“The company belongs to you … So isn't that like paying yourself?” Bill wondered, “I don't know, Mom ...”

“I'll ask anyways.” She smiled, sweetly, “I have some errands to run now, so I'll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Okay, see ya.”

Bill's smile dropped the moment Simone left the room.

He simply couldn't imagine himself working in a corporate office, or any kind of rigid setting such as Trumper Inc. For a free spirited, artistic person like himself, it would be swift and certain death of the mind and heart.

Bill turned back to his desk when his cellphone began to vibrate insistently. A smile graced his lips as Andreja's caller ID photo filled up the screen.

He snatched the phone and clutched it to his ear, “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Hey, you. I've been texting. Where have you been?” Andreja interrogated without a second for pleasantries.

“Job hunting.” Bill replied, dourly, “It's not going so well.”

“Aw, sorry to hear it.” Andreja replied, “How about a night out to take your mind off it?”

“If you're buying.” Bill retorted with a smile, “I'm a broke, jobless young adult here.”

“Of course I'll buy. As long as I get to see you, sweetie pie. We haven't hung out in like two days.” Andreja said, dramatically.

“Okay, when?” Bill asked, feeling his heart lift.

“I have work until five, so I need like an hour so get ready, so how about we meet at seven.”

“Cool, I can be there. At Lemon's?”

“Mhmm.” Andreja crooned, “I can't wait to see you, baby.”

“You too.” Bill replied, “I'll see you soon.”

“Bye, Billy.”

“Bye.”

Bill hung up the phone and flipped his journal open. Skimming his eyes over the words, he considered tearing the page out and erasing those pathetic fantasies from existence. He knew without a doubt that he was getting smashed tonight.

 

 


	39. Shatter

Bright lights, a world of color, shifted past him in a blur of languid awareness. Weightless and giddy, he sank lower, his fingers relinquishing control. A small chuckle slid past his lips because there was a distant song playing on the radio that reminded him of the scent of hay, utter silence of roomy barn, and a hint of grass as they lingered by the lake. Nostalgic memory crashed over him, crushing amusement into fine, salty tears.

Like a lead weight, his body sank down harder, propelling him. A low moan and a rushing sound filled his head. Blackness closing in, like a giant, terrifying curtain, swallowed him.

“Tom ...” His voice scratched out, a pathetic whimper, “Where did you go?”

Sharp white seared into his vision, expelling the darkness and prying his lids wide open. Like a hundred suns staring him down, he was blinded, helpless, arms flailing for control.

For a solitary moment, he was motionless, emotionless, caught in a vacuum between terror and complacency. His heart slogged through a dozen painful beats, as if dragging through molasses and making it hard to breathe. His throat closed in like caving walls; he couldn't scream, think, breathe. And like a clock ticking backwards, his mind spun through memories that trailed blood back to childhood.

Death, like a black, gaping maw, rushed into claim him – and for a moment, he was content that his time had finally arrived.

A crash so loud it deafened him broke that hopeful second. Glass and rain shattered in his face, and a moment of brilliant, crippling pain broke across his skull. His lips stretched wide open, screaming, spewing blood, begging. The sound rattled through his brain and bones, unrecognizable as his own voice, but terrifying him just the same.

With thud, and a shorter, duller burst of pain, it all ceased.

He was still, lifeless, clinging to the edge of a heartbeat while his other hand clawed toward the black abyss that awaited him down below.

 

~

 

The dull, steady beep coming from the machine next to the hospital bed scared Simone nearly as much as the image of her son's thin, pale body resting against the bed sheets. He'd always been so thin, but now his spindly arms and protruding cheekbones looked grotesque against the stark, white sheets.

She reached out a trembling hand and touched his temple lovingly. Smoothing his hair back, she swallowed down a quiet sob.

“Oh, my baby.” She whispered, leaning closer to Bill's smooth, peaceful expression of sleep, “How do you do these things?”

Sedated, Bill could neither hear her nor respond, but Simone already new the answers to all her questions. She had watched her son suffer for three years, never quite getting past that damn Ranch. Since Gordon's death, his depression and dissatisfaction had only deepened, leading Simone fruitlessly ponder why. Despite her own love for Gordon, she'd always known he and Bill hated each other; it wouldn't have shocked her or offended her if Bill were happy that Gordon was gone.

“Mrs. Trumper?”

She quickly dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up to see the doctor entering the room.

“Yes?”

“Your son is going to be okay.” Doctor Nash assured her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “He sustained dozens of contusions and bruises, as well as broken ribs, arm, collarbone, and leg. We had to put three pins in his wrist, which will likely cause intermittent pain for the rest of his life. But he's going to make it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Nash.” Simone whispered.

“Unfortunately, the tox screen came back, and his alcohol levels were far above the appropriate level for driving.” Nash continued, glancing at Bill's sleeping form, “When he wakes up, he's going to be in some trouble.”

Simone grabbed a kleenex from the table nearby and wiped her eyes and nose.

“Is the other drive okay?” She asked.

“He's actually in better condition than your son since he was driving a truck and Bill was driving a smaller car.” Nash informed, “The police already questioned him, and they will be over to question Bill when he's awake and ready.”

“God,” Simone dropped her forehead into her palm.

“Bill turns twenty-one in September?”

“Yes ...” Simone sighed, “Will he have to go to jail?”

“Typically, community service is at hand, and it'll be on his record forever … Considering that he didn't injure anyone more than himself, he's lucky.”

Simone shook her head, “This is my fault … I should be more aware of what he's doing and-”

“Ma'am, it's not anyone's fault but his own.” Dr. Nash said, shaking his head, “Speaking as a parent, I know that once your kids get to be a certain age, they are gonna go their own way no matter how hard you try. Sometimes they have to learn the hard way.”

“Thank you.” Simone replied, forcing a polite smile on her lips, “I appreciate all your help.”

“You're welcome. I'll leave you with him now. The police will be over in a couple of hours.”

Simone didn't reply as the doctor left Bill's room. Sinking to the bed next to Bill, she slipped her hand into Bill's long, pale fingers and squeezed tightly.

“You're gonna be okay, baby.” She whispered, fighting back a fresh wave of tears.

“Oh my God … Billy.”

Simone's head swung up to see Andreja in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with tears. Bill's friend rushed into the room, wobbling slightly on her platform wedge heels. She reached the opposite side of the bed and grabbed Bill's other hand, as thick tears streamed down her cheeks.

Simone gazed blankly at the girl, not speaking as Andreja bent over Bill's motionless body.

“Billy, I'm so sorry.” Andreja cried, softly, kissing Bill's bruised cheeks and leaving behind smears of lipstick.

“He was with you?” Simone asked, rising from the bed to look down at Andreja.

Andreja nodded, sniffing back tears, “We had dinner and drinks together at Lemon's and then we went our separate ways. He was fine when I left him.”

“So, you're the one that got him drunk.” Simone asked, her tone growing cold.

Andreja blinked rapidly, confusion crossing her tear-stained expression, “Yeah, I mean . .. No. No, Bill drank all on his own. I wasn't-”

“You're the one that dragged him out to get drunk when he was so emotionally fragile.” Simone accused, pointing a rigid finger across the bed at Andreja's face, “You're the one that put him in this bed.”

“How dare you.” Andreja retorted, jumping to her feet, “How dare you accuse me!”

“How dare I?” Simone echoed, her voice trembling with anger, “I was the one looking out for him, giving him a place to stay, helping him find a job! You're the one playing therapist and feeding him alcohol and parties to help him forget about it all. You call yourself a friend of my son? I think you're the one poisoning him-”

“I love Bill.” Andreja shouted, “He is my only friend, you ungrateful bitch!”

“I am his mother!” Simone raged, leaning farther across the bed to glare directly into Andreja's eyes, “I am trying to protect him and nurture him and-”

“And what about all the times you let Gordon beat him?” Andreja snapped, crossing her arms defiantly.

Simone took a step back, angry retorts dying on her lips. A shaft of pain went through her heart, intense, but not unfamiliar.

“What about ignoring the fact that he was being molested?” Andreja continued, her tone soft but lethal, “What about ignoring his pain? What about carting him off to shrinks instead of actually listening to him? What about sending him to that stupid Ranch and fucking him up for the rest of his fucking life?”

Simone turned away, covering her mouth with one hand to muffle the sobs choking her throat.

Andreja sighed loudly, and Simone could hear a hint of remorse in the exhale.

“Look.” Andreja asked, “Maybe I do go out with Bill and drink with him. But he made that choice all on his own, Mrs. Trumper. I wasn't dragging him to Lemon's hog-tied. He wanted to get drunk last night. Now, we're both here because we love Bill, and we're worried about him, so can we please just watch over him without screaming? I don't think that's what he needs right now.”

Simone sucked in a deep breath and swiped at the tears and mascara running down her cheeks. Her heart throbbed in painful, fractured pieces; she felt so weak, she doubted she could continue to fight even if she wanted to.

“You're right. I'm sorry.” She whispered, turning to face Bill's friend, “That was wrong of me.”

Andreja nodded, slowly, “Okay. Then let's sit with him.”

They quietly returned to respective sides of the bed, holding each of Bill's delicate hands. Andreja reached up to stroke Bill's cheeks, a small smile bending her lips.

“You know, the first time I had a real conversation with Bill was in the hallway of our highschool.” She said, softly, “I hadn't had the surgery yet, so all the bullies just considered me a cross-dressing freak. They picked on me all the time, and sometimes it got violent. It was after school, I was walking to the drama department because I was in the play that year. These three seniors – jocks – dragged me into a classroom and started pushing me around. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I was scared. I started yelling for help, and that's when Bill came busting in. I'd always seen him, in the hallways, or in class, you know; and he was just so beautiful and mysterious. I'll admit, I kind of had a crush on him.” Her quiet chuckle sobered into a quivering expression of adoration. She stroked light fingers through his hair as she quietly continued, “Anyway, he told those jocks if they didn't get off me right that second he was going give the recording he had going on his phone to the the internet and everyone would know they liked fucking sissy boys.”

Simone felt an involuntarily smile lift her lips, “That's my Bill.”

Andreja nodded and squeezed Bill's hand to her chest, “I thanked him profusely after the bullies left and asked him if there was anything I could do in return. He asked me if I had notes for Chemistry.”

“He was never much of a student.” Simone replied, chuckling softly.

“I was in adoration of him.” Andreja said, “But more than that, I respected him. He was up against three other guys that were each two times his size, but he was willing to stand up for me – someone he didn't even know.”

Simone pursed her lips and swallowed back a fresh wave of tears, “He has a good heart.”

“He does. And a strong one, too.” Andreja agreed. She reached over and put a hand on Simone's shoulder, “He has been through so much, but it hasn't broken him. He still makes me laugh and smile every day. Even when he's hurting and upset, he doesn't let anyone know it.”

Andreja paused until Simone met her gaze. Smiling hopefully, she squeezed Simone's shoulder.

“He's strong, and he's going to make it, Mrs. Trumper. I don't know everything he's going through right now, but it's not going to break him. I have faith in him, and in us to help him through.”

“Thank you,” Simone whispered, all resentment melting away, “Thank you for reminding me.”

 

~

 

_“Do you why you're here, Mr. Trumper?”_

_“Do you know what you did?”_

_“Do you remember the crash?”_

_“Your friend said you left the bar pretty drunk.”_

_“You could be in some trouble, son.”_

Bill's wide, dry eyes blinked rapidly as he focused on a medical chart hanging on the wall across from his bed. A small fly landed on the chart, catching his attention. It crawled in wide loop, rubbing it's little legs together, before taking flight.

Bill jolted at the cool touch that grazed his arm. Gaze swinging upward, he glared unapologetic at the police officer standing over him.

“You have to answer our questions, son.” The middle-aged officer reminded him.

Bill withdrew his arm and cradled it over-top the cast on his other arm. He licked his lips, tasting bone-dry and lingering alcohol.

“It sounds like you have all the answers, already.” He replied, his voice a hoarse whisper.

The officer glanced at his partner, a squat, black woman who chewed gum with an air of annoyance. Bill could see on her face that she didn't want to be here as much as he did.

“We'd like to hear it from you.” The office replied.

Bill drew in a deep breath and let it out. Avoiding the two police officers' stern glares, he summarized, “It's like you said. I got drunk at Lemon's, got in the car to drive home, and apparently swerved left-of-center and hit a truck.”

The office assessed Bill's fixed gaze and stubbornly set jaw for several moments before scribbling in his notebook.

“All right,” He said, shaking his head, “I guess that's it.”

“Yep.” Bill agreed, his voice clipped.

“Let's go.” The office muttered to his partner.

The two left the hospital room without further remarks, leaving Bill alone and sinking with the gravity of his situation. Tears swelled behind his eyelids, but he pressed his fingers to the throbbing tear ducts to stem the tide.

His head swam like the ocean, and his body was stiff and aching from lying in the same position for hours. All he wanted to do was sleep, but the reminder of what he had done haunted him every time he closed his eyes. Over and over again, he saw the blurry lights flashing past him, the blinding beam, and the horrific crash of metal and glass.

“Hey, honey.”

Bill glanced up to see Simone entering the room with coffee and donuts from the hospital cafeteria. She set the refreshments on the table and rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?” She asked, holding both hands in her own, “Those officers were polite, right?”

Bill sniffed and shook his head, “It's not them.”

“Oh, baby.” Simone soothed, cradling Bill's face to her shoulder, “It's all going to be okay.”

“But its not.” Bill cried, sitting upright, “It's not okay, Mom. I do these things because I'm mad, and I don't even think about what could happen. And now something has happened and I'm responsible. I could have hurt someone else, or worse ...”

“But you didn't.” Simone insisted, reaching up to touch his tear-stained cheek, “You didn't, and we're going to help you and get you better, okay?”

Bill wiped at the tears streaking down his cheeks, “Thanks, Mom, but I think I'm too far gone.”

“That's not true.” Simone said.

“It's my life. I think I know.” Bill quietly disagreed.

Simone rose from the bed and plucked a few tissues from the box sitting nearby.

“No one is ever that far gone, Bill.” She said, smoothing the tissues in a neat stack over her palm, “I'm going to do everything I can for you, and help you get back on your feet. You're my son; there's nothing I couldn't do-”

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” Simone asked, turning sharply in response to Bill's dreadful tone.

Bill sat stock still in the bed, his cheeks pale and stained with a single tear running down his cheek. Following his gaze, Simone laid eyes on what had shocked her son.

Damian London stood in the doorway.

Silence blanketed the room while an undercurrent of tension seeped under their skin. Damian was the first to move closer, and break the silence.

“Hi, Bill.”

Bill licked his dry lips and forced out a reply, “Hi.”

Damian faltered in the doorway for a few moments before stepping further into the room.

“Can we talk?” He asked, looking directly at Bill.

Bill's first instinct was to escape the confrontation, but the casts and IV alone kept him anchored to the bed. After spending countless nights imagining Damian coming back for him, he was loathe to admit he simply didn't want his ex-boyfriend to see him in this condition.

“I'm not here to condemn you or take you back; I just want to give you something.” Damian explained.

“I'll go to the bathroom and freshen up.” Simone inserted, quietly.

Bill gritted his teeth as she slipped out of the room, leaving him alone to fend for himself.

Damian visibly relaxed when they were alone. He crossed the room to Bill's bedside, a look of concern and sadness on his face.

“What?” Bill asked, crossing his arms as well as he could with the cast on one.

“I somehow feel that this is partly my fault.” Damian replied, quietly.

“Well, you shouldn't be so self-absorbed. Not everything is about you.” Bill replied, casting Damian a faded smile.

Damian chuckled and shook his head, “I see your dark sense of humor survived the accident.”

Bill lifted his cast encased arm and replied, “About the only thing that survived intact.”

Damian's amusement quickly died. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he took Bill's hand in his own.

“I'm sorry for leaving the way I did.” He said, gazing repentantly into Bill's eyes, “It was abrupt and cold and . . . I admit, I was very angry that morning, but after a couple of days, I realized I shouldn't have let that conceal the fact that I still care about you.”

Bill yanked his hand out of Damian's with a gruff sound of disbelief, “You can't seriously be blaming this all on yourself.”

“Not all.” Damian replied, “But I wasn't being very responsible on my end.”

“Let's talk about being irresponsible.” Bill replied, heatedly, “I'm the one that started dating you before I was even sure I wanted to. I'm the one that stayed with you, even when I had doubts. I'm the one that was always leaving you at home while I went out and partied, and I'm the one that pushed you away.”

“All that may be true.” Damian said, softly, “But I know some things now that I didn't before; things that make me realize this might not all be your fault.”

All of Bill's retorts were swallowed by first shock, and then panic. He swallowed hard, feeling a lump and tasting bile.

“What . . . What do you know?” He whispered, haltingly.

Damian scraped a hand through his hair a blew a heavy breath out through his nose, “I was never planning on telling you this.”

“What?” Bill insisted.

“The night we stayed at your mom's house . . . The night Gordon died. Your mother and I had a conversation that I'll never forget.”

“Oh my god.” Bill whispered, clutching a palm to his forehead, “What did she say?”

“She talked about the abuse from Gordon and ...”

Bill stared wide-eyed at Damian as the other man hesitated, his eyes downcast.

“She told me about the tutor.” Damian ground out, at last.

“Oh my god.” Bill whispered, a sharp pain going through his chest, “That-that's not fair. How dare she? She had no right, Damian!”

“I'm sorry.” Damian whispered, reaching out for Bill with a tender hand.

Bill ducked away from Damian's caress as a fresh wave of tears flooded his eyes. Humiliation slashed hot and red across his cheeks, burning down into his chest and turning his stomach. His most well-kept secret lay exposed to everyone he thought he had deceived – to all the people he had never wanted to know.

“I didn't tell her that.” Bill whispered, around choking tears, “I didn't tell anyone. She had no fucking right to do that.”

“It's not your fault, Bill.” Damian replied, attempting to soothe him.

“Not my fault.” Bill muttered, clutching his head with both hands, “Not my fucking fault? You don't even know the whole story, Damian!”

“No one asks to be raped, Bill.”

“Get away.” Bill snapped, slapping angrily at Damian's arm, “Go away! I don't want to talk about it!”

Damian backed away from the bed, his expression written with horror and sadness. He watched mutely as Bill crumpled into a heap of sobs and shuddering limbs.

Bill tried to fight back the tide of emotion, but every little trigger that had been pushing him to the edge the past several weeks crushed his defenses. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sobs robbed him from breathe. He gasped helplessly into the cradle of his hands, the thought of Damian seeing him so weak no longer of any concern.

He flinched, wrenching away when he felt hands on his shoulders. He fought weakly against the embrace, but Damian held him close, safe. Weary of fighting, Bill at last relaxed against Damian's chest, and hardly moved until the tears subsided.

Damian reached over and grabbed several kleenex. Pressing them into Bill's hand, he stroked the wet strands of hair back from his cheeks. Bill wordlessly wiped his eyes and nose, cleaning away the evidence of the breakdown except for the red hue on his cheeks.

“I'm not trying to make you a victim.” Damian said, at last, “But I realize that you have been dealing with this all on your own for years and years.”

“I'm handling it fine.” Bill replied, not meeting Damian's gaze.

“No, no you haven't.” Damian said, touching Bill's cheek gently, “No one should have to suffer like this, with no one to help him.”

“Do you have some sort of magical solution, then?” Bill asked, with a mirthless chuckle, “Because I have seen all kinds of doctors and none of them have helped me a bit.”

“Bill, you have to want to get help.” Damian replied, “Or else you're going to be fighting an uphill battle by yourself for the rest of your life.”

Bill sighed and leaned back against the pillows. He was reticent to admit that Damian was right, though some small part of his heart longed to breakdown and accept help.

“I am not here to reinsert myself back into your life.” Damian continued, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and leave on a better note.”

“You said you wanted to give me something?” Bill asked.

“Yes.” Damian replied.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small business card and pressed it into Bill's palm.

“Hope Village Rehab Center?” Bill read off the card in disbelief.

“Yes. I had a friend a few years ago that was in pretty bad shape, kind of like you are now. He went to Hope Village and they helped him a lot.” Damian explained.

“The last thing I need is some sort of poor-me talking circle, and religious nuts trying to tell me Jesus loves me through my flaws.” Bill replied, holding the card out to Damian, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“It's not like that.” Damian said, “They're not religious nuts. They just help people work things out.”

Bill arched an eyebrow and thrust the card closer to Damian's chest.

“I'm not taking it back.” Damian replied.

“Fine.” Bill said. He reached across the bed and dropped the card next to the kleenex box, “Neither am I.”

“Look, I just want what's best for you, Bill.” Damian sighed, “And I don't know what else to do to help you. I feel helpless and I hate it. I'm used to being able to take care of the people I care about.”

“You broke up with me, Damian. Why do you even care?”

“Because, at some point I loved you.” Damian said, leaning so close that Bill's could feel the warmth of his breath and see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, “And I think you loved me too.”

Bill glanced away, pursing his lips hard. Tears moistened his eyelids, making it difficult to reply.

“I don't want to see your life keep going down the path it's on.” Damian whispered, “You are a beautiful, talented, and incredibly smart young man. You can do anything you set your mind too; but it's all gonna go to shit if you don't deal with your problems.”

“Gee, thanks-”

“I am serious, Bill.” Damian said, firmly, “And I know you can handle what I'm saying, even if it's a little bit harsh. You can't keep running from your problems. I know it seems like the easiest solution right now, but in the long run, it just gets you farther and farther behind. I want to see you thrive, Bill. I want to see you happy. But you have got to pull yourself up by your own boot straps, because no one else in this whole fucking world is going to do it for you.”

Bill focused on the clean, white bedsheets, swallowing back tears. Damian's words stung, but deep inside, Bill knew he was right on every point.

“Bill.” Damian whispered, tucking his finger under Bill's chin and forcing his eyes up, “You have so many people that care about you. We all want to see you succeed. But you have to stop running and ignoring your issues. You have to face them.”

Bill sniffed and managed a small laugh, “You're right; that was kind of harsh . . . But you're probably right.”

“Probably?”

Bill shrugged and ducked his head, “Mostly.”

“Then will you take this?” Damian asked, retrieving the card from the bedside table.

Bill curled his fingers around the card, feeling a hint of hope.

Damian smiled and pressed a kiss to Bill's forehead, “I'll always think kindly of you, my dear.”

Bill grabbed onto Damian's hand just as the other man rose from the bed.

“Am I ever going to see you again?” He asked.

Damian's eyes were both warm chocolate and dark steel, “I don't think that's a good idea until you get things figured out.”

Bill nodded, slowly, feeling the sting of regretful tears.

“Maybe in a few years I'll see your face on another magazine cover, and get curious.” Damian smiled, lightly, “Until then, I wish you the best of luck.”

Damian left a final kiss on Bill's forehead before leaving the room – leaving Bill feeling a little more empty.

 And just like that, he was gone again. 

 


	40. Homecoming

The walls were powder blue and the office smelled like candles. The middle-aged man who sat behind the desk was whip thin, a feature exaggerated by his tightly buttoned collar and way his pants sat up too high on his waist. He cradled a cup of steaming tea in his hand while balancing a pen with the other as Bill slipped into the room.

“Hi, Bill, how are you today?”

“Pretty good. Thanks, Dr. Waters.” Bill replied, taking a seat in the chair opposite the lanky therapist.

Waters cleared his throat and set his tea carefully on the edge of his desk, exchanging the warm beverage for his notebook.

“Well, let's get started.” He smiled, kindly.

“The sooner the better.” Bill replied with a brisk smile, “I'm into a very serious round of blackjack with some of the other guys, and I am about to win jackpot of chocolates.”

A chuckle emitted freely from the doctor's lips, “Well, then, that's very important. Tell me about the last couple of weeks, Bill.”

“They've been great.” Bill said with a shrug, “Not much to tell. It's been pretty quiet and uninteresting.”

“That is an upside, compared to earlier sessions.” Waters replied, raising his brows.

Bill smiled ruefully, “I haven't gotten into a fight in weeks. Trust me, you would have heard about it if I had.”

“I believe you.” Waters agreed, “I see you cut your hair.”

“Yep.” Bill said, running his hand across his shorn hair, now only about an inch long, “I figured it was time for a change.”

“No other reason?”

“I've had long hair since I was fifteen.” Bill replied, with a shrug, “It was sort of tied with a lot of shitty things I went through. So I figured … cut the tie.”

“Good.” Waters waved one hand, “Putting the past behind you. It's a positive step.”

“Yeah.” Bill said, biting bashfully at his lower lip, “Couldn't have done it without you and everyone else here at Hope Village.”

“Appreciation – also a good improvement.” Waters said, now grinning, “Sure you're not faking it? Or have your body swapped for a clone?”

“I'm sure.” Bill laughed, “I'm just done being unhappy and letting the past drag me down, you know?”

“Yes, I understand completely.” Waters replied, “It's fantastic …. So how is your mother?”

Bill's glowing expression faded slightly and he shook his head, “She tells me she's okay when we talk on the phone, but I know the business is weighing on her. She's not the CEO type, and she's being forced to make all of these decisions for the company.”

“I'm sure that in turn weighs on you.” Waters suggested.

“Yeah, we spent a lot of years mad at each other, so now that we are trying to make it up, it really hits hard when she's upset.” Bill replied, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

“You're going to be leaving Hope Village soon, aren't you?”

“Yeah in another month.”

“Have you thought about helping her with the business?”

Bill's head swung up to find Waters gazing at him with a curious and entirely serious expression on his face.

“What? You mean like . .. help run it?” Bill sputtered, “Me? Me – Bill Trumper – run a Fortune 500 company?”

“That's what I said.” Waters smiled.

“That's just . . . That's crazy.” Bill said, shaking his head, “No way, Dr. Waters.”

“Why not?” Waters asked, crossing his legs and gazing at Bill pointedly, “You're extremely smart, Bill, you've just never applied yourself before.”

“How do you know, Doc?” Bill asked, sinking lower in his seat and crossing his arms.

“Remember all those tests I had you take when you first got here?”

“Yeah,” Bill shrugged, “So what, I didn't even try.”

Waters removed his glasses and chuckled quietly as he polished them on the corner of his cardigan.

“That's the thing, Bill.” He said, amused, “You scored rather high.”

Bill frowned, but didn't reply as Waters replaced his glasses and gazed at him with searing eyes.

“You're smart. You think outside the box. You know how to get what you want out of people. Most of all, when you want something, you're extremely focused and undeterred in getting it. I think you would make the perfect new leader for your stepfather's floundering company.” Waters explained, spreading his hands, “All you have to do is apply yourself.”

Bill was speechless for several moments. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he licked his lips and ran a slow hand across his face.

“I've never thought about it before.” He managed, at last.

“Look, Bill.” Waters continued, somberly, “A lot of people make serious progress here at Hope Village, but once they go back to their home, meet up with their old friends, and fall back into their old habits, they relapse. There's no structure or reminder of their progress to keep them from slipping. I don't want to see that happen to you, Bill. You are gifted, and you need to channel all of your energy and intelligence into something constructive and worthwhile.”

“Most people would say get a steady paying job, or go to college.” Bill laughed, “You're telling me to be the CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation. That's a pretty far reach, isn't it?”

Waters reached across the space between them and squeezed Bill's shoulder, “Not for you, Bill. Not for you.”

 

~

 

Bill popped his last chocolate into his mouth and watched the remnants melted into tiny drops on his palm while the phone rang against his ear.

He slouched low in the chair next to the phone booth, concentrating on the burst of caramel in the middle of the chocolate. He figured his mom would laugh at the proposition, but if not, at least he would have candy to enjoy his last few sane moments of living.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom, it's Bill.”

“Hi, honey, I was waiting by the phone for your call.” Simone cooed across the line, “How are you?”

“Good.” Bill replied, before sitting up straighter in his chair, “Great, actually.”

“Oh, that's so wonderful to here. So everyone at Hope Village is still treating you right?”

“Everyone is great.” Bill said, squinting across the sun-lit room to wear floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view of the rolling landscapes behind the Hope Village complex, “This place is great.”

“I'm so glad you decided to go then.”

“Me too. How are you, Mom?” Bill asked.

Silence hovered across the line for several moments before Simone gave a low sigh.

“Mom-”

“Oh, don't worry about me.” Simone hushed him, “It's just the company. Things are complicated when it comes to running a business this huge, you know. We'll get through it.”

“I'm worried about you, Mom, no matter what you tell me.” Bill argued as gently as he could, “I'm not there to help you.”

“Well, you are off solving your own problems, and I'd say that's more important than some stupid business.”

“What about me helping you run that stupid business when I come home?” Bill said, before he could take the words back.

Simone was quietly for a few moments, and Bill could practically hear the wheels in her head turning.

“Honey, isn't that a bit too much stress when you just got home from rehab?” Simone asked, softly.

“Dr. Waters says that routine and structure are good for recovering addicts.” Bill replied, “It helps to keep from slipping back into old habits.”

“That sounds good and all, but I'm not sure . . .” Simone's anxious tone registered clearly through the telephone speakers, “I don't want you to jump into it too fast. I mean, you're so young. There's plenty of time.”

“Mom, if you are too stressed out or in trouble, I want to help.” Bill replied, scanning the rolling hills and distant, endless treeline beyond the windowpane, “Besides, there's a whole other world out there I haven't seen. A better world.”

Simone sighed shortly, and gave a low chuckle, “So, you want to get into business, hmm?”

“I don't know. I just know I don't want to do what I was doing before.” Bill said, firmly.

“I'll make you a deal. How about you focus on this last month at Hope Village, and then we'll talk about you giving me a hand with a company once you get settled back in at home?” Simone replied.

“Sure, Mom.”

For another hour, they talked about Bill's friends at Hope Village and Simone's new garden she had planted behind the house; about progress and slipping; about hope and the future.

Bill was watching a beautiful pink and purple sunset through the window when he hung up the phone.

He smiled at staff and doctors, and hummed a quiet tune as he walked back to his dorm. The walls were plain beige – that he wasn't aloud to change – but they were covered in photographs and a few old band posters. The bed was neatly made, the carpet freshly vacuumed, the dresser free of dust. Several books were stacked next to the lamp near his bed, alongside a few composition notebooks.

He flopped onto the bed and swiped the top notebook from the stack. Typically, writing down his problems helped solve them, and the whole CEO idea needed solving before it infested his brain. Flipping the pages open, he smoothed the paper down to the last journal entry he had made.

 

_August 27 th, _

 

_I've got one word, motherfucker. Progress. That's right. I'm going home. Dr. Philippe says I can go home after next month – in fact, he fucking recommends it. But don't say anything about that picture laying next to you, because it doesn't mean a damn thing except that I have accepted all of my problems and challenges. Sounds good on paper right? Or it just means you can't fix stupid._

 

Bill sighed as his fingers slid across the page to encounter a small picture caught in the binding. His nail glided across the familiar face, the strong set jaw and full lips, the squinted eyes and loose hair.

He had secretly printed it off from the website while in the library on a day not long after he had arrived at Hope Village. It was his little secret, his guilty pleasure.

Every day, he wasn't sure whether it was therapy or torture to stare at the lovely face of Tom Kaulitz.

 

~

 

The sun was shining it's morning rays across the lush grass as Bill stepped out the front door of Hope Village Rehab Center a month later.

He'd sat on these steps hundreds of times before, a book cradled on his knees, or his journal open to inked down thoughts, but he had never felt so optimistic before. It wasn't just a new day; it was a new chapter. Though he could never dash away the sadness and mistakes of his previous life, he was confident of the clean slate before him.

Simone waited in the parking lot, her slender body leaned against the car door, one thoughtful hand supporting her chin. As he rushed down the front steps with a confident gait, a smile spread across her lips.

“Oh my God, look at you.” She cried, meeting him halfway across the parking lot, her arms outstretched, “You look so different.”

Bill embraced her tightly, drawing in the familiar scent of her perfume and hairspray.

“In a good way?” He asked, smiling.

Drawing back, he gazed into his mother's eyes for the first time in the past several months. It was like opening up the shutters to a summer breeze after the cold and damp of winter locking them down.

“Yes, in a good way.” She chuckled.

Her smile faded as she searched his face, most likely noting every miniscule detail of his demeanor.

“Let me look at you.” She whispered, placing both hands over his cheeks, “My handsome son.”

“Mom.” He ducked his head, feeling a blush rising up his cheeks.

“You look better.” She observed, “Do you feel different?”

Bill thought for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” She smiled, briefly, “That's good.”

They hugged warmly for several more moments before Bill gathered his suitcases and loaded them into the backseat of the car.

“You finally cut your hair.” Simone observed with a wry smile, “After years of me standing here telling you long hair is for girls.”

Bill chuckled and ran a hand across his groomed head, “It was time, I guess.”

“It looks good.” Simone replied.

“Of course you'd say that.” He teased, swinging the car door shut on his bags in order to put an arm over her shoulders, “You've wanted me to have a 'boy's haircut' since I was nine and decided I wanted it long.”

“Oh, yes.” Simone laughed, tilting her head back against his arm, “I remember having that argument.”

Bill cinched his arm tighter to her neck and planted a kiss on her temple, eliciting a smile and a mist in her eyes.

She patted his chest and sniffed softly, “So much has changed.”

Bill's smile faltered as he watched his mother dry her eyes. A pang of regret went through his heart, recalling all the fear and pain he had caused her.

“Hopefully, this time for the better.” He replied, squeezing her shoulder.

“Yes, yes.” She nodded, wiping away the remnants of tears, “Enough of that. Don't listen to me, honey. I'm just getting old and nostalgic and wishing you were my little baby to take care of again,” She leaned in and kissed his cheek,“It's so good to have you back.”

“It's good to be back.” Bill agreed.

As Simone wheeled the car out of the driveway, Bill glanced in the side view mirror at the receding face of the Hope Village campus. Upon first entering, he had looked on the grounds, modern glass structure, and white-suited doctor's with dread and loathing, but driving away for the final time, he felt a twinge of the bittersweet in his heart. Leaving Hope Village left him on his own, with no fellow residents or doctor's to help him through; leaving meant starting over, with either the possibility for success or simply making more mistakes. Leaving severed his last tie to Damian.

Bill sighed and leaned back against the leather seat of his mother's car with his eyes closed.

“Are you okay?” Simone asked, reaching over to touch his hand.

“Yeah, fine.” Bill cast her a smile.

Simone returned his smile and tilted her chin upward, “You know, I am so proud of you for making these decisions. I never would have guessed it a couple of years ago.”

“Neither would I.” Bill said, shaking his head, “I never could have gone to Hope Village … And still, sometimes, I can't believe I did. Especially since the suggestion came from ...”

Simone's brows knitted softly, but she kept her gaze occupied glancing at the mirrors.

Bill shrugged, brushing away the feeling of trailing sadness over the break up, “Anyway, it helped more than I thought it would.”

“That's good.” Simone said with a supportive smile, “Do you feel confident?”

Bill thought for a few moments before drawing in a deep breath and nodding, “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Simone grinned, “Now let's get you home, because I'm confident you're going to really enjoy the apple pie I made for your homecoming.”

 

~

 

Bill was helping Simone load the dinner dishes into the washer when the door bell chimed through the house.

Bill frowned, glancing at the clock, which read half past eight, “Who do you think that could be?”

“I don't know.” Simone replied, toweling her hands dry, “I usually don't get visitors this late.”

Bill trailed behind Simone as she walked briskly to the front door and unlatched the deadbolt. As she pulled the door open, a familiar face came into view.

“Hi, Mrs. Trumper. Is Bill here?”

“Yes, he's-”

Simone's reply was cut off by Bill's joyful exclamation,“Andreja!”

Bill rushed to the door and sidled past Simone to reach his best friend. Andreja's eyes widened in delight just as Bill's body nearly bowled them over onto the porch steps.

“Bill!” Andreja cried, her long, slender arms wrapping tightly around his middle, “Oh my god, I've missed you so bad!”

“I missed you, too. You don't even know.” Bill replied, drawing back to drink in the sight of her pretty face, “Did you get more beautiful while I was gone?”

“Oh, no, stop.” Andreja gushed, blushing bright pink but enjoying the flattery, “Too much, too soon, Billy. You can't drown me in emotions like this, I'll simply burst.”

“Oh, you like it.” Bill teased, tapping her nose, “You love it, you little attention whore.”

“You know me.” She said, her arms squeezing him affectionately.

“Well, um, I'll let you two catch up.” Simone interjected, awkwardly slipping away from the intimate reunion.

Bill pulled the door shut behind him and turned to gaze more soberly at Andreja.

“God, it feels like it's been years instead of months.” He said, softly.

“Yeah.” Andreja nodded, folding her arms tightly around her middle, “You look good though, Bill. Really good.”

“I feel good.” Bill smiled, “But I'm glad to be back. I was getting homesick.”

“For this place?” Andreja laughed, nodding toward the Trumper mansion.

Bill chewed his inner cheek as he glanced back at the massive home. A cold wind seemed to interject itself into the warm summer air gusting down the street, and for a blink of an eye, all he could see was a street filled with first responders and flashing lights.

“No.” He said, “Just my friends and family.”

“Right.” Andreja said, slowly, realizing she had hit a nerve, “Well, you have us back now.”

“And now I have to decide what to do.” Bill said with a low chuckle, “I feel like I'm starting over.”

“No more modeling?” Andreja asked.

“I think I'm done with all that.” Bill shrugged.

“Just because Damian-”

“No, it's not just him.” Bill sighed, running his fingers through his short hair, “It's everything. I'm ready for something new.”

“Hey,” Andreja nudged his ribs, “How about we catch up some place else?”

“I already had dinner.”

“Then we can get dessert.” Andreja suggested, grabbing onto his hand, “I know this great place that has milkshakes that are to die for. I mean, I'm trying to keep my carbs down and everything, but I can cheat for a special occasion.”

“Okay.” Bill agreed.

Fingers linked, they strolled down the sidewalk to where Andreja's old model Mustang was parked along the curb.

“Your baby got a new paint job while I was gone.” Bill observed.

Andreja grinned as she slid behind the wheel, “I had to get some pink in there somewhere. When my dad handed me the keys it was all black – like it was meant for you, or something.”

Bill laughed as he settled against the leather seats. Andreja gunned the engine and pulled away from the curb, letting the tires squeal a bit before settling into a fast but smooth cruise down the open road. Laying his head back against the seat and feeling the warm summer breeze against his cheeks, Bill sensed an aura of calm and peace. Like everything was going to be okay. It may have been superstition but it was all the assurance he had right now.

When Bill and Andreja arrived at the dairy belle, they ordered milkshakes and retreated to a corner booth, away from the establishments other occupants, a group of rowdy teens.

“So,” Andreja said, taking a big swallow of her mint chocolate shake, “Have any exciting stories from rehab?”

Bill shrugged and twirled his straw through his plain chocolate milkshake, “Not really. It was actually kind of boring in day to day life.”

“Well, I guess that's the point.” Andreja shrugged, “Big change for you, though.”

“Yeah.” Bill agreed, “It took some getting used to, but after awhile, I liked the peace and quiet. I'm glad I'll have a whole wing of the house to myself now that I'm back in the real world.”

Andreja chuckled, “No more nightclubs for you, I suppose.”

“Nope.” Bill said, tasting his shake, “I'm supposed to stay away from all my old friends and hangouts.”

“What about me? Aren't you breaking the rules already?” Andreja said, her eyes widening.

“I know you won't drag me down.” Bill replied, smiling reassuringly. He reached across the table and squeezed Andreja's fingers, “I couldn't leave you behind even if you tried.”

“Aww.” Andreja murmured, lowering her big blue eyes.

“So,” Bill said, veering away from the depressing subject, “What have you been doing?”

“Well, you know I got that modeling contract with Ashton Brothers, but I've been with them for five months now and it doesn't seem to be advancing very fast.” Andreja shrugged and made a face, “I'm reaching out to other companies.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to.” Bill encouraged, “Any luck?”

“None.” Andreja sighed.

Bill leaned back against the booth and toyed with the hem of his shirt. Seeing his thoughts deepening, Andreja leaned forward and tugged on his hand.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just . . .” Bill shook his head.

“What is it?” Andreja prodded.

Bill pursed his lips for a moment before slowly lifting his eyes, “Damian got me a magazine cover in a couple months . . .”

“Bill, I wouldn't . . .” Andreja began, frowning.

“It wouldn't hurt me.” Bill interrupted, his voice rising, “I wouldn't be mad.”

“I don't want you to feel like I'm using you.” Andreja whispered, “That's all.”

“You're not. I would gladly put in a good word for you.” Bill replied.

“Damian would . . . He would listen?”

“He's not mad at me.” Bill said, lifting one shoulder, “Actually, last time I saw him, he seemed kind of . . . sad to be leaving me behind – which kind of made it hurt even worse. Some irony, huh?”

“Yeah.” Andreja murmured, “When was that?”

Bill focused on the smooth but tattered surface of the table, scratching at a tiny ding in the wood.

“Wait, this was recently?” Andreja guessed.

“In the hospital, after my accident.” Bill supplied, quietly, “Actually, he's the one that referred me to Hope Village.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Andreja asked, shocked.

“I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want anyone to think he was saving me. I mean, he dumped me after all. I didn't want friends or family to think I was still holding onto him, or some stupid shit like that.” Bill explained, keeping his gaze focused on the table.

“I wouldn't have thought that.” Andreja whispered.

Bill shrugged, “Whatever, it's done now, and I've come to terms with how our relationship ended, so . . . Yeah, I'll put in a good word for you at his studio.”

Andreja sank back against her seat, letting the topic slide. Bill cast her a small smile, grateful that after all his absence, she still knew him so well.

“What about you?” Andreja asked, softly, sliding her foot across the floor to nudge his leg, “What are you gonna do now? You said you didn't want to do modeling . . .”

“I'm thinking of taking a more … executive route.” Bill said, carefully.

Andreja frowned, studying his expression for another hint.

“With Gordon's company.” Bill blurted, before he could bury the idea in his mind.

Andreja's cleanly plucked brows rose in shock, “You mean run the company? Shit, Bill . . .”

“Yeah, it um . . . It actually came as a suggestion from someone I trust at Hope Village.” Bill said.

“And you think that's something you want to do?”

Bill shrugged, “It's worth a shot, right?”

“Right.” Andreja agreed, “I mean, there's money in it so why not?”

Bill chuckled, “Right . . . I mean, just being his adopted son makes me rich, but if I actually owned part of the company I'd probably be swimming in cash.”

“Did you tell your mom yet?” Andreja pressed, leaning closer.

“Yeah, I pitched her the idea . . . She didn't seem too excited it about.” Bill replied, dourly, “She thinks I'm not ready for it so soon.”

Andreja snorted, “Bill, you were the smartest kid in the room and no one knew it. Your mom, at least, should recognize that big brain in your head.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Bill waved her off, “I didn't do that good in school.”

“Yeah, because you didn't try your hardest. Besides, book knowledge isn't everything.” Andreja reasoned with a widening smile, “Just think – Bill Trumper, CEO.”

“I think you're getting ahead of yourself a little bit.” Bill laughed.

“I'm just saying, you're smart and you can do it if you really want to.” Andreja said, her tone growing serious, “If it's what you want, you should go for it. And I know for a fact that you can persuade your poor, helpless mother into almost anything.”

“Are you calling me manipulative?” Bill teased, narrowing his eyes.

Andreja lifted her chin and shrugged, “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“You're probably right.” Bill sighed, running a hand over his head, “It's just been awhile since I _manipulated_ anyone into anything.”

“It's like riding a bike.” Andreja grinned and popped her straw into her mouth, “It'll come back to you.”

Bill made a face and scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully.

“You really think it's a good idea?” He asked.

Andreja sucked the milkshake from the bottom of her straw and pointed it at his face, “I think a mind like yours is being wasted while a pretty face gets exploited by magazines.”

“Ouch.” Bill remarked.

“Hey, I don't care what people say – brains before beauty. And that's coming from me, a model.” Andreja said, hardly apologetic.

Bill sighed, “Ah, maybe you're right.”

“You don't want to miss an opportunity.” Andreja said with a smile, “Go for it, Bill. You never know how far you can go until you try.”

“Okay.” Bill said, drawing in a deep breath, “I'll talk to my mom tomorrow.”

 

 


	41. Crucible

Bill plopped a sugar cube into his coffee as he eyed his mother from across the kitchen. Focusing intently on wiping down the counter, Simone seemed to ignore his burning gaze until she turned to face him.

“Well, I can practically hear the wheels turning, so what is it?” She asked.

Bill chuckled lightly as he swirled his spoon through the coffee. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings, and his palms felt damp.

“Come on, out with it.” Simone encouraged as she took the chair next to him, “The suspense is killing me.”

“I was just still thinking about what Dr. Waters said to me.” Bill blurted before he could rethink his decision, “About helping you with the company.”

Simone's eyes widened slightly, and her lips pressed down into a thoughtful line. Bill's heart plummeted as her gaze drifted away from him. Gazing through the open window, she seemed to ignore his suggestion for several moments in favor of watching the birds chirping at one of her many feeders in the back yard.

“Mom?” Bill prodded, anxiously.

“You really want to do this?” She asked, softly.

Bill licked his lips and ran a nervous hand through his hair. His heart felt like it was being squeezed out of his chest.

“Um . . . yeah.” He answered after several moments.

“You're sure?” She pressed, her hazel eyes finally meeting his, “I mean, are you one hundred percent certain.”

“No, but . . .” Bill scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, “I have to do something with my life, Mom, and modeling just isn't doing it for me.”

“You don't have to do this though.” She insisted.

“It's the only option I see. The only thing I think could possibly work.” Bill said, shaking his head, “Ever since Dr. Waters suggested it, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Don't you think that is some sort of sign?”

“Maybe it's an omen.” Simone murmured.

“Andreja told me I was the smartest kid in the room, it's just that no one knew it. Now I don't know if that's the truth, but I can't sit around for the rest of my life waiting for my future to come to me. I have to try.”

“Andreja is a dreamer.” Simone replied with a faint smile, “And she believes in you to a fault.”

“But I am right, aren't I?” Bill asked, reaching across the table to touch his mother's hand, “My life is up to me to make it work and succeed.”

“Yes.” Simone nodded, “Yes, you're right.”

“I'm done sitting around, letting others control me, or waiting for things to get better. It's up to me.” Bill said, fervently, “I'm ready to take control of my life.”

“And I am so proud of you for it.” Simone whispered, touching his cheek with a loving hand, “So proud . . . But why this?”

“Why not?” Bill asked, perplexed.

Sighing, Simone leaned back heavily and folded her arms tightly. Reticent, she kept her concerns behind tightly pursed lips for several long, silent moments, her worry only betrayed by the sadness in her gaze.

“This is about Gordon, isn't it?” Bill concluded, his heart dropping.

“It's about the company.” Simone whispered, pointing a sharp finger to the table top, “And what it does to a person.”

“What do you mean?”

“Greed. Money. . . Power.” Simone whispered, her eyes glazing over with tears, “I watched it destroy my husband, and nearly let it destroy me. I was so wrapped up in his lifestyle and all the material things he could give me that I nearly let my son get ruined in the process.”

“That's not true-”

“It is.” Simone snapped, her eyes growing steely behind the sheen of tears, “I let him whisk me away on exotic trips, and shopping excursions, and expensive wine . . . I wasn't looking out for my baby anymore.”

Bill sighed and reached for Simone's hand.

“I won't let that happen to me.”

“How can you know?” Simone whispered, wiping rapidly at escaping tears, “I never thought I would let some of the things happen to you that did. I never thought I would put entertainment and marriage above you.”

“But we have each other now.” Bill said, squeezing her hand, “I don't have anyone else, so there's not collateral damage.”

“Honey,” Simone smiled, weakly, “One day, there will be.”

Bill glanced away, shaking his head, “I don't foresee it in the near future.”

“You are a wonderful man.” Simone replied, lifting his chin with her fingertips, “You are handsome, and smart, and charming . . . I promise you, there will be someone.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Bill murmured, “But you haven't changed my mind.”

Simone nodded, slowly, “Yes, but you have to be voted in as a member of the board or buy a part of the company to join me.”

“Then I'll buy Gordon's share. I have money in the trust.” Bill said, spreading his hands.

“Quite true.” Simone replied, “I shouldn't try to stop you, should I?”

“No.” Bill smiled, “I growing pretty confident about this.”

“Okay.” Simone sighed, “I'll talk to the board and the investors in our next meeting.”

A smile spread across Bill's face and he leaned over to wrap his mother in a tight embrace.

“Thank you.”

 

~

 

The bell over the door jangled, announcing the entrance of three dusty, rough-hewn men, all wearing cowboy boots and Stetsons. The supply store was fairly sparse of guests as the clock was yet to reach noon.

“Hey, Tom!” The elderly man behind the cash register called out, “I was just wondering when you guys would be rolling in.”

“Hey, Jim.”

Smiling, Tom approached the counter and swiped his sunglasses from his nose. His black Stetson hat sat low on his forehead, protecting his dark brown eyes and weathered skin from the midday sun. He and Randy had been up since the crack of dawn working to repair fences on the north side of the ranch, and had only stopped because today was the monthly errand run to the city.

“Here's my order.” Tom said, pulling a receipt from his pocket and handing it to the older man, “Randy and his son Matt can help carry the crates out to the truck.”

“Hey, Randy,” Jim acknowledged the other rancher as he looked up Tom's order on the computer, “I see you brought along someone new.”

“This is my son, Matt.” Randy introduced.

Hand on Matt's shoulder, he pulled the young man up to the counter. Smiling he added, “He just started out at the Miranda. He's going to make a fine rancher.”

“Well, he should, considering he has two of the best men I know training him.” Jim said, casting a wink at Tom.

“Some people are just born with the instinct.” Tom replied, nodding at Matt.

“Okay, your order shoulder be ready.” Jim said, “If you'll follow me to the back, I can show you where the crates are.”

“I'm going to stay up here and get some extra things Nat added to the list at the last minute.” Tom said, retrieving a second list from his pocket.

“We'll be out by the truck whenever you're ready.” Randy said.

The other three men disappeared to the back, and Tom wandered into the aisles, scanning the shelves for the items on Natalie's list. He was always careful to get exactly what the boss wanted; keeping the ranch happy and in running order was his only concern these days.

Frustratingly, no matter how many times he told himself that, he always looked to the calendar as another year passed, recalling that it had been four years now that Bill had left the ranch.

Four goddamn years. Four years of sitting alone in his cabin. Four years of toiling under the sun and breaking his back for the Miranda. Four years of sipping scotch with Natalie and pondering the path his life had taken. Four years of trying to convince himself he could be happy on the Ranch, and live the rest of his life without someone next to him.

He was adjusting uncomfortably, but adjusting all the same. At least, that's what he had to tell himself.

Tom had picked up the last item on his list and was heading back to the front counter when the magazine rack caught his eye. Since seeing the magazine with Bill's face on it in the airport three years ago, he had guiltily glanced over every magazine rack he passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of his estranged lover's face. He had never had any luck until now.

Tom set his items down on the counter and rushed back to the magazine rack, where one glossy cover was imprinted with Bill's unforgettable face. His hands all but trembled as he held the magazine in his hands, eyes skimming over the words printed above and below Bill's picture.

_Forbes._

_The New Face of the Trumper Empire: How Bill Trumper Became CEO In Just One Year._

“Shit, Bill.” Tom whispered, his fingers grazing across the magazine cover, “You did it.”

“Incredible, isn't it?”

Tom's head jerked up when a woman's voice interrupted his scattered thoughts. His eyes settled a middle-aged woman who had approached the magazine rack while Tom wasn't paying attention. Her gaze was pinned to the _Forbes_ magazines adoring a good portion of the display.

“Um, yeah.” Tom managed.

“Have you been keeping up with that story?” She asked, tapping the magazine in Tom's grasp, “It's inspiring, if you ask me.”

“No, I . . . This is the first I've heard of it.” Tom replied, swallowing against a dry throat.

“Well, it was on the news first because the CEO died.” The lady informed, “The man who built the company, you know?”

Tom's mind raced for several moments before coming to a screeching halt.

“Gordon . . . Gordon Trumper is dead?” He breathed out.

“Yes, has been for about a year and a half – maybe two years. I couldn't be sure.” The woman replied, “Tragic, really. Just fell over and died of a heart attack one day.”

“Yeah . . . tragic.” Tom murmured, glancing down at the magazine, where Bill's intense gaze seemed to draw him, even if only on paper.

“That young man right there is his stepson.” The other shopper continued, pointing at Bill's picture, “He's only like twenty-one. Isn't that crazy? He's already in charge of his step dad's company at such a young age.”

“Yeah, it's crazy.” Tom said, his tone growing choked.

“I think I'll buy one.” The lady said, reaching past Tom to take a magazine from the rack, “It's inspiring, like I said. I love those kinds of stories.”

Tom didn't reply as the lady walked away. His chest felt tight enough to burst, as if his heart had swollen two sizes. How many times had he told Bill to do whatever he wanted in life? How many times had he said “I believe in you” only to doubt it a second later as he watched Bill's confidence and demeanor crumble?

He had watched Bill walk out of his life, a broken, used up, and unhappy young man, destined for a life of sadness and perhaps ruination. Bill's constitution had always been weak, often prone to tears and angry outbursts. Tom had believed in Bill through it all, but had never suspected he might one day take charge of Gordon's company.

“Are you ready, Tom?”

Tom glanced up to see Jim gazing at him expectantly from behind the cash register.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Tom said, plastering a fake smile on his face.

He hesitated for only a few seconds before carrying the magazine to the counter and placing it with the other items.

“I didn't realize you had an interest in stocks.” Jim teased as he rang up the items.

“It's new.” Tom replied.

Jim shrugged as he scanned the magazine, “It's an inspiring story, even if you aren't interested in stocks.”

“So I've heard.”

Tom paid for the purchases and took his bags as quickly as he could.

Randy and Matt waited for him outside the truck, Randy smoking a cigarette, and Matt munching on some candy he had picked up inside the store.

“Ready?” Tom said, pulling the keys from his pocket.

“Yep.” Randy said, tossing his cigarette.

After everyone was piled into the truck, Tom started the engine and turned them back toward the Miranda. As he drove, all he could think about was getting back to his cabin and reading the article about Bill.

His heart fluttered lightly in his chest, like a bird trapped in a cage. After spending so much time trying to forget about what happened with Bill, a single magazine cover undid all of his perceived progress. He wanted to tell himself that he wasn't still in love with Bill, that he still didn't harbor fantasies of the boy coming back to him, but his heart claimed his head to be a liar. The hope sprouting in his chest, and the excitement he drowned in at the thought of Bill being happy overwhelmed the barriers he had put up against his feelings for Bill.

After a drive that seemed to last forever, the truck rumbled through the gates of the Miranda. Tom pulled the truck up next to the barn where the first half of the supplies would be stored; the rest went to the main house, in a variety of locations. It would take at least an hour to unload everything.

“Hey, how about you call Jake out here?” Tom suggested as he and Randy got out of the truck, “I have some other things I want to get done before lunch.”

“Come on, man, you know where everything goes.” Randy complained, pulling the bed of the truck open, “You, me, and Matt can get this unloaded in less than an hour, I bet.”

“It's important.” Tom replied, cringing at his own phony excuses, “Jake knows how to do it. He's helped me once or twice.”

“Whatever you say.” Randy surrendered, waving a dismissive hand.

Relieved but wincing guiltily, Tom escaped the task with the bag containing the magazine firmly in his grasp. The closer he got to the cabin, the faster his pace accelerated, and by the time he slammed the door of his cabin behind him, his heart was pounding with exertion.

Tom pulled the smooth, new magazine harshly from the bag, bending the front cover open. Sinking to one of his kitchen chairs, Tom set the magazine more delicately down in front of him.

His heart tripped over itself as if it had forgotten how to pump properly. Bill's intense gaze peered up at him from the paper, seeing his soul despite the fact that the certain gaze was gone and only captured by camera.

His long, dark hair was gone, replaced by a neater, more sophisticated style – either side shaved close to his skin, leaving a thick crest of jet black hair on the crown of his head. Chin held high, Bill stared fiercely into the camera lens with his arms folded across his chest, one shoulder edging closer to the front. He was all but a lingering ghost of the boy Tom had once known, at least by appearance.

Within a few seconds of analyzing the cover, Tom felt his heart drop. No matter what he found within these pages, Bill was never going to be the person he had known. Bill was never going to come back to him. He had gained confidence, moved on, surpassed Gordon as Tom had once instructed him to do …. By all accounted, Bill should be happy.

Blinking back tears of defeat, Tom rubbed a hand over his face.

Either way, he had to know.

Drawing in a deep breath, Tom opened the magazine cover and quickly searched through the table of contents for the cover story. His fingers trembled, working against him. He flipped through the numerous glossy pages, passing other articles and ads before stopping abruptly at page 72.

Bill's face once more filled the page, this time a bold close up that cropped out nearly everything but his head. Across the page, the words displayed the front cover's theme. _Bill Trumper: The New Face of the Trumper Empire._

Tom scanned down the page, his eyes delving into the article.

_Bill Trumper isn't your average twenty-one year old. He isn't your average CEO. He isn't your average male. He's one of the youngest men in the world to gain the title of CEO after less than a year of tutelage, and in that class, he is the youngest to be out of the closet, proud to identify as homosexual . . ._

_Following the death of his stepfather, an event that Bill would later describe as “life changing” his determination and intelligence took him to places he had never imagined._

_“Five years ago, I wouldn't have believed I would be living this life. In fact, no one would have believed it.” He says with an air of self-deprecation, that somehow manages to be charming._

 

Tom smiled briefly and shook his head. It was a slight relief to his racing heart that at least some things would never change. He could nearly imagine the twinkle in Bill's eye as he both applauded and bullied himself.

Tom continued reading, his eyes eating up passages concerning Bill's rough childhood, though thoroughly paraphrased from Tom's own knowledge. Tom winced at the quotes about “painful experiences,” and the “things he endured at such a young age,” matching every reference to the sad, unfair things Bill had revealed to him.

 

_Looking at Bill today, no one would believe the evolution from rebellious, spirited teen to suave, sophisticated CEO could be real. The question is, what does it take to make such a monumental change occur?_

_“I never believed this until it happened to me,” Bill reveals, “But sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to find a solid foundation. We all have things happen in our lives, good or bad, but the choices you make determine if you go up or down. I went all the way down before I came all the way back up. Trust me, sometimes I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to make different choices – but I wouldn't be in this exact place, would I?”_

_True and profound words from a young man who seems to have experienced it all in only twenty-one years._

 

Tom set the magazine on the table and ran a hand over his eyes. Bill sounded so mature and refined in this article that Tom wanted to throw the magazine in the trash right there. It sounded like Bill had it all, that he had made it. He didn't need Tom, a lowly, basic rancher hiding out in the middle of nowhere, to look after him anymore.

With stinging eyes, Tom reached for the magazine, only to pause when he noticed another quote.

 

_“Some people call it a crucible. A trial by fire. Something that changes your life forever. I had that. I had a man. Someone who loved me unconditionally, and I loved him. I don't know if you understand what I mean, but it was that kind of perfect love that I thought could last forever. Sadly, it didn't. We were separated under some depressing and shocking circumstances. I was hearing all these things about him that may or may not have been true, and I didn't know who to believe. So I left him behind. I'll be honest when I say, I regret that choice more than anything else in my life. I would trade this life and all the money and luxury if I could turn back the clock and change what I did.”_

 

_~_

 

Natalie glanced up sharply when a rough pounding sounded on the door of her office.

“Who is it?”

“Tom.”

“Come in.” She replied.

Her eyes narrowed as Tom slipped into the office, a harried look on his face.

“What is it?” She asked.

“I found this magazine at the supply store while Randy and I were out.” Tom said, striding across the office and slapping a magazine down in front of her.

Natalie's brows knitted as she scanned the magazine cover, “Tom why are you reading _Forbes?_ ”

“No, look.” Tom said, tapping a firm finger on the face of the young man on the cover.

Natalie gazed in confusion at the unfamiliar face for several moments before the realization hit her like a semi truck. Disregarding the magazine, suit and tie, and sleek haircut, Natalie could glimpse the face of a young man she had thought she would never forget.

“Oh my God.” She whispered, snatching up the magazine to look closer, “This is . . . This is him?”

“Bill.” Tom said in a rough whisper.

“That's crazy.” Natalie said, shaking her head.

The young man on the magazine cover was refined, mature, and in control – everything the youthful Bill Trumper Natalie had met five years ago was not. It seemed almost impossible.

“He did it.” Tom said, pacing around the office, his fingers locked in his hair, “I was always so worried he wouldn't be happy, but it couldn't be farther from the truth.”

“It is amazing.” Natalie agreed, setting the magazine gingerly on the desk, “Is there … another reason you're showing me this?”

Silence buzzed through the room. Tom turned slowly to gaze at her, his eyes wide and dangerously hopeful. He said nothing, but the look on his face confirmed all of Natalie's fears.

“Tom,” She sighed, rising from her chair, “You have to get over this.”

“He said he regrets it.” Tom whispered, his eyes glazing over with tears, “In the interview. He said he wishes he could turn back time and change his decision.”

“Tom.” Natalie shook her head.

“What if I could somehow contact him?” Tom asked, spinning to face her, “Maybe if he's that unhappy about how things ended-”

“Tom.” Natalie interrupted, this time more firmly, “Tom, stop.”

“What?” He breathed, his eyes breaking from the distant possibilities and swinging to her.

“It's been five years.” Natalie continued, cringing at the sadly misguided hope in her friend's eyes, “Look at him – he's twenty-one and highly successful. He's running a company. Even if he doesn't have a boyfriend by now, what are the chances he would take the time to . . .”

Natalie let her logic trail off at the look of devastation in Tom's eyes.

“Right.” Tom said, his voice stone cold, “Why would he take the time out of his schedule to give me the time of the day?”

“I'm sorry.” Natalie whispered, reaching out to touch his arm, “That was too harsh.”

“It was.” Tom replied, wrenching his arm away, “But probably true … God, I'm such an idiot.”

“I'm sorry.” Natalie repeated.

Tom plucked the magazine from her desk and stared dully at the photograph of grown-up Bill. Natalie could see the pure love and loss in his eyes, and it hurt her heart more than her own pain.

She had cared for Tom since he came here over ten years ago; she had befriended him and taken his side when no one else would. At one point, she had thought they could take on anything together. Now she was sure she was failing miserably as a friend.

“He's happy now.” Tom whispered, stroking a finger over Bill's face, “Seeing me would only bring up old pain and bad memories.”

Natalie held no reply. She remained silent, waiting for some golden piece of advice to drop from the heavens and into her hands.

“ _I_ should be happy.” Tom added, more forcefully, “He's gotten everything I wanted for him. Gordon is gone, he and his mom have mended fences, and according to this article, he's one of the richest twenty-one year old's alive. I should be happy for him.”

“It's not always that easy.” Natalie whispered, placing a gentle hand on Tom's shoulder, “I know what it's like to lose someone. Possessions and money can't replace happiness.”

“I should get rid of this, right?” Tom asked, glancing over at her with glossy eyes.

“Probably.” Natalie murmured.

Tom gave a low growl and threw it back on the desk, “It's the not knowing, Natalie. I just wish I knew for sure how he feels. I mean, what if by chance he feels how I do, but neither of us makes a move? What if I just miss the chance?”

“What if he's in a relationship and you get your heart broken all over again?” Natalie countered, gently.

“That's what I mean.” Tom sighed, “I wish I knew.”

“I wish I knew why the love of my life had been taken from me.” Natalie said, quietly, “I wish I knew why my daughter was ripped from my arms … But in life we don't have all the answers. All we can do is pick up and keep going. Rebuild, start over.”

Natalie's heart warmed slightly as Tom put his arm around her and drew her close.

“I also wish I was as strong as you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“You're strong.” She replied, patting his chest, “Stronger than you know.”

“Maybe it's a crucible.”

“A crucible?”

“It's something Bill said in the article.” Tom murmured, his eyes distant and misty, “A trial by fire that changes your life forever …. Like losing Penny and Charlotte. Maybe losing Bill is the same thing, I just haven't found a way to move on yet.”

“The Miranda helped you move on from Charlotte.” Natalie said, “Maybe the solution is out there and you just haven't found it yet.”

“No,” Tom whispered, “Bill helped me move on from Charlotte. Now what am I supposed to do?”

 

 


	42. Amends

A dozen voices rose like a tide and spilled into the hallways as the double doors of the board meeting room opened to allow a petite, red-haired young lady in a black pants suit to enter, an iPad cradled in one arm, a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

“Yes, Gemma?” The tall, willowy man at the head of the table asked, ignoring his peers in favor of his secretary.

“Meeting in twenty minutes, Mr. Trumper.” She said, as quietly as possible without interrupting the other board members but loud enough for him to hear.

“Thank you.” Bill replied with a dip of his head. Holding up both hands, he brought the room to a quiet, “Everyone? We're going to resume this meeting tomorrow.”

“I still have reports on the Edinburg property to present.” One of the stuffed suits argued as he held up a thick file.

“Edinburg isn't due for another two months.” Bill soothed with a charming smile, “It will be first on the agenda at tomorrow's meeting. Thank you.”

Before anyone else could protest, Bill gathered his things and swept out of the room with Gemma at his side.

“Getting pretty heated in there?” Gemma asked as she handed Bill his coffee.

“No more than I can handle.” Bill replied, quickening his pace to reach the elevator before the doors closed.

The two stepped inside and Gemma tapped the button to take them back to Bill's office.

“I have several messages from phone calls.” She continued, fingers dancing over the iPad screen, “Do you want to hear them?”

“Sure. Shoot.” Bill said, checking his watch and then the elevator's floor indicator.

“Okay, KWD radio station wants an interview next week.”

“What's their agenda?”

“They want to focus on your charity efforts for abused children.”

“Schedule it.”

“Okay.” Gemma said, making a note to set up the interview, “And I got a call from CNN, also wanting an interview. They are taking a more environmental side.”

“When?”

“This week.”

“I just can't.” Bill replied.

It was a small lie, to avoid jumping into the pit with lions. He had no time for the jackals at CNN when Trumper Industries was making every effort to go green.

“Okay.” Gemma scanned down the list and chuckled lightly, “This is a good one. The mayor's office called, wanting to know if the rumors are true that you are running for political office.”

“Very funny.” Bill said, dead-pan.

“No, I'm serious, they called.” Gemma replied, her laughter swelling.

“Really? Wait, am I even old enough to run for political office?” Bill asked, peering over Gemma's shoulder at the notes on her iPad.

“Old enough to run this company.” She replied, nudging him gently in the ribs with her elbow.

“You're sweet. Anything else?” Bill asked.

The elevator doors swished open and Bill exited with a determined stride toward his office. Gemma hurried after him, her high heels tapping rhythmically across the tile.

“Oh, you're going to love this. Verne, from Ecolab called.” Gemma informed, rolling her eyes, “Badgering us about the lab inspections coming up.”

“I know, I know.” Bill waved his hand, “We'll get it all scheduled in due time. Just make sure Nelson, down on the twentieth floor knows.”

“I already sent him a memo. I don't know why they bother calling you directly about these things.”

“Anything else I should know-”

The question, along with any amusement, seeped from Bill's mind as he rounded the corner to his office and saw the young lady standing just outside the doors.

“Shit.” Bill muttered, nearly spilling his coffee on the front of his expensive suit.

“What?” Gemma said, coming to a halt next to him.

“Is this my... uh, my meeting?” Bill asked, motioning to the blond woman lingering anxiously by his door.

“It's a...” Gemma scanned through her iPad before finding the scheduled meeting, “A Tiffany Young.”

“Uh...” Bill woodenly handed his coffee to Gemma without breaking his gaze from Tiffany, “Okay, thanks, I'll take it from here.”

“Are you okay?” Gemma asked, snatching the coffee before Bill dropped it into thin air.

“Fine, um...” Bill swallowed against a dry throat and rearranged his tie, “Yes, thank you. That will be all.”

Gemma backed away, a frown on her brow. Bill could feel her eyes still burning into the back of his head as he approached Tiffany.

“You have a meeting?” He asked, his voice emitting thin and wavering.

Glancing up from her phone, Tiffany met his anxious gaze with one of her own. Her eyes passed over his face and Armani suit before settling uncomfortably on his wide eyes.

“Yes.”

“Okay, right this way.” Bill said, diplomatically as possible.

He led them through the doors of his office and pressed them firmly closed behind him. Whatever was said in this meeting, he didn't want another soul to know of it.

“You remember me, right?” Tiffany asked, quietly.

She claimed one of the leather chairs across from his desk. Sitting with a stiff spine, she crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt over her knee, all the while barely meeting his suspicious gaze.

“Yes, I remember.” Bill replied, rounding his desk and sitting down, “What can I do for you?”

She glanced up at him and gave a brief laugh, “You're nothing like I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Bill asked, creeping back behind a rough exterior he knew how to display well, “The same childish, angry kid you manipulated four years ago?”

She ducked her head, but not fast enough to hide to embarrassed flush.

“Not exactly.”

“A lot can happen in four years.” Bill said, extending both hands to indicate the luxurious furnishings of his office, “A lot can change … But I never expected a visit from someone like you.”

“I never expected to be here.” She countered, lifting her chin, “But to soothe your concerns, I'm not here as your enemy … And if you'll listen to me, maybe I never was.”

Bill paused, defenses melting for just a few moments. He had known Tiffany so briefly those four years ago, but he had only ever considered her an antagonist, an ally to Nora and Dirk. In a blind, jealous rage, he'd simply wanted to crush her skull into the ground, never stopping to consider all the stories.

“Okay.” He said, leaning closer to the desk, “I'll listen. But I am a very busy man, so I would appreciate it if you could condense.”

“No problem. It's simple.” She replied, “I never wanted to hurt you or Tom. I was a stupid teenage girl who had a very serious problem. I was addicted to heroin. Being out on the ranch without my supplier, I was going into withdrawls. Dirk had some, and so when Nora asked me to push Tom, my addiction told me I didn't have any choice. When I wanted to back out of the agreement, Nora threatened to not hold up their end of the bargain.”

Bill stared at the slender woman across from him, her eyes wide, wet and apologetic, but felt only the burn of familiar rage in his chest.

“You destroyed my relationship with Tom for one high?” He whispered, teeth clenched, voice shivering with anger.

“I'm sorry.” Tiffany said, tears slipping down her cheeks, “That's why I came here! I wanted to come clean to you and tell you how sorry I am for what I did, for all the hurt I caused. I know you must think I'm the worst person in the world right now, but please believe me, I have changed.”

Bill's hands curled into fists, containing the heat raging through his veins. Tiffany sat across from him, her face cradled in both hands, her shoulders shaking with tears. She was truly repentant.

“It was so long ago. Why now?” He asked.

Tiffany wiped at the tears on her cheeks and cleared her throat, “Because I was a juvenile at the time, the police couldn't do much with me. In fact, what happened just made things worse for me. I started hanging out with some really rough people and took more drugs. Finally, I almost OD'd about a year ago, and my parents staged an intervention to send me to rehab. I just got out a couple of months ago and I've been going to support groups. With the twelve steps, you know? And one of the steps is to make amends to all of the people I have wronged. It's a pretty long list, but yours was the first name that came to my mind after my family.”

Bill broke her gaze and ran a hand through his hair, pausing to tug in frustration at a few strands.

“I understand.” He said, at last, “I've been through the steps myself.”

“Then you know what I mean when I say I would do anything to make it up to you.” Tiffany replied, hopefully.

“I'm afraid there's nothing you can do now.” Bill replied, smiling grimly, “I haven't been in contact with Tom since I left the ranch.”

“I'm so sorry.” Tiffany whispered, shaking her head, “I wish I could go back and change it.”

Feeling the familiar sting of tears in his eyes, Bill pinched his tear ducts and swallowed hard, “So do I.”

 

~

 

“Come now, darling. Lay here.” Andreja cooed, patting her hand on her lap, covered in fuzzy sweatpants.

Bill gave a great, heaving sigh and fell to the bed where Andreja lounged. He settled his head into lap and hummed in satisfaction as her manicured nails began to massage his scalp.

Down time with Andreja was always what he needed after a rough day in the office. At first, she had teased him that a CEO didn't have much time for silly, party girl like her, but they had quickly settled into the routine of visiting each other's houses every other weekend. Bill brought his worries, and Andreja brought advice – or at least commiseration.

“Everything has been going so well, and now it's all turned to shit with one little meeting.” He complained.

“How is that?”

“Because now I'm starting to think that breaking things off with Tom was an even worse decision that I first realized.”

“Because this Tiffany bitch was black-mailed by Nora?”

“Exactly.” Bill groaned, forming a fist and slamming it to the sheets, “Why can't I get over him, Andreja?”

“They say you never get over your first love.” Andreja replied, fingers stroking across his forehead in a hypnotizing circle, “It's not true for me because my first love told everyone I was gay and made me the laughingstock of the whole middle school.”

Bill cracked his eyes open to gaze up at Andreja's sympathetic blue eyes.

“But look at the beautiful woman you have become.” He said, tugging on a strand of her bleach blond hair, “You got past it. Why can't I?”

“I don't know, dear. Maybe it was meant to be.”

Bill scowled, “That's what I always thought, but after everything happened, I spent so much time being angry . . .”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why exactly were you angry? I mean, I know those cunts attacked you in the woods and hurt you, but why were you angry at Tom?” Andreja clarified.

Bill seethed a frustrated sigh and clapped a hand over his face, “It's complicated.”

“So simplify it for me.”

“We were going to make it work.” Bill groaned into his palms, “We talked about it every day. And then all of the sudden, right before the attack, he tried to break it off. We had less than a week left to be together and he was just like 'No, that's it. It won't work.' I ran off into the woods, and you know the rest of the story.”

“You blame Tom for getting hurt?”

“I did then … But I know it's stupid and childish – not to mention pointless – now.”

“So what's stopping you?” Andreja asked, focusing on the piece of his hair she twirled through her fingers.

“From what?”

“Finding out if it was meant to be?”

Bill sat up so fast he nearly smashed his face into Andreja's chin.

“What the hell are you talking about, woman?”

“You can't get over him. You still think about him. You're worried you made the wrong choice. So it's probably going to haunt you for the rest of your damn life.” Andreja said, spreading both hands, “So go find out and put that bitch to bed.”

“You think I should go see Tom?” Bill asked, slowly.

Andreja shrugged, “If it makes you feel better, then yes.”

“That's … that's crazy.” Bill protested, shaking his head, “I mean, what if he's not even on the ranch anymore? And who's to say that he would even want to see me. I dumped him on the curb like trash and never answered any of this calls. I mean-”

“Bill.” Andreja interrupted, holding up a hand, “Everything you have told me, all the stuff you remember about him – it all says that he loved you very much. This sounds stupid and cheesy, but I think a love like that doesn't go away, even with time. I mean, you still feel that way. Why wouldn't he?”

“That's ...” Bill scraped a hand through his hair, whimpering slightly, “That's kind of true . . .”

“It is true.” Andreja insisted, “And I think if you don't go visit your Tom, you're never going to get over this.”

“He's probably not there anymore.” Bill muttered.

“He seemed pretty grounded to me. Vice President?” Andreja pointed out, shoving his shoulder lightly.

“God, why do you do this to me?” Bill groaned, jumping up off the bed and stomping in a small circle around the room.

Andreja leaned back and chuckled, “Because I love you and I want to see you happy.”

Bill dropped to the edge of the bed and scrubbed both hands over his face, “It's not that easy.”

Andreja crawled up next to him and threw her arm over his shoulder.

“Why not?”

“So much happened.” Bill sighed, sadly, “More bad than good, I think. What if I get there, and he's nothing like I remember? What if he hates me?”

“At least you'll know and you can let go.” Andreja said, pulling him closer.

Bill turned his face into her shoulder and wrapped his arms tight around her slender waist. Being the CEO of his own company, he sometimes felt ashamed to be cradled in the arms of a woman like a baby, but that thought was always quickly banished by the reminder that she had been his constant friend before he become business mogul.

“I've never seen it, you know.” Andreja whispered.

“Seen what?” Bill mumbled into her sweet smelling hair.

“You happy.”

Bill lifted his head sharply in protest, “That's not true.”

“Maybe I've seen you happy about a party, or happy about Christmas presents, and happy about making it with the company … But I haven't seen you constantly, contentedly happy.” Andreja clarified, a sad look overcoming her pretty face, “When I met you, you were a mad, broken, unhappy teenage boy, and maybe that's improved some, but no matter what me or anyone has done, you're not completely fixed yet.”

Bill glanced away, biting at his inner cheek.

“Maybe you know me too well.”

“I had hoped you and Damian could make it work, but now I think the only way to really put an end to this if for you to find out about Tom.” Andreja said, tapping his chest with her fingertip.

“Those were the happiest days of my life.” Bill affirmed in a muted tone.

“Maybe they can be again.”

“I don't know. It's never that easy.”

“Just promise me you'll think about it?”

Bill shook his head and sighed, “Only because you're looking at me with those big puppy dog eyes you know I can't resist.”

“I am not.” Andreja laughed, pushing her shoulder into his, “Will you?”

“I'll think about it.” Bill consented.

“Okay, enough serious talk.” Andreja said, jumping up from the bed, “I have these new dresses I bought, I need you to tell me which one looks best because I have a really hot date tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Bill smiled.

As Andreja skipped into the bathroom to change, Bill let his body fall back against the mattress. Staring blankly at the ceiling, he was accosted by a sudden fear – a fear that if he didn't take a leap of faith and visit Tom now, he would pass up his chance on happiness forever.

 

~

 

Tom pushed the food around on his plate as he tuned out the conversation around him. Lunch was almost concluded, but he had eaten only a few bites without his stomach teasing hunger.

He glanced at the empty chair next to him, and cursed mentally.

 _You're going to haunt me forever, aren't you?_ He demanded of imaginary Bill.

At one point, he wouldn't have minded. Cherishing those memories had gotten him through the first months; now he just wanted to forget. His once burning love and passion grew bitter and stale, like a bad taste he couldn't get out of his mouth no matter how many times he washed it.

Tom didn't protest as the wait staff made their rounds of the mess hall and took his almost full plate from before him. He did notice, however, the amount of staff that circled the room for the next several minutes.

“Did we let some of the wait staff go?” Tom asked, directing his gaze to Natalie.

Natalie bit her lower lip and glanced away, “Yes, I'm afraid we had to.”

Tom sighed and sank lower into his chair, “Last month it was some of my hands.”

“There's nothing that could be done.” Natalie replied, lowering her voice.

Tom chewed his inner cheek and let his gaze roam around the mess hall. They had a fairly big crowd this week, but sometimes, the ranks were so thin, Tom wondered how the ranch was still functioning. He tried to tell himself that this was slow season and things would pick up again come summer, but the lies only stretched so far.

“Will you walk with me?” Natalie asked, glancing at her watch.

“Okay.” Tom said, slowly.

Departing from the mess hall, Natalie led them through the lobby and out onto the front porch of the main house. The sun was at it's midday peak, spreading golden rays across the expansive ranch, glistening off everything green. It was sight to behold, yet one that instantly made Tom sad at the thought of losing it.

“I have something to confess to you.” Natalie said, her head lowered.

“What?” Tom asked, feeling his heart take a plunge.

Natalie slowly descended the steps, her boots falling heavily against the boards with each step. Her gaze turned to the front gate, hers squinted against the sunlight.

“I set a meeting for today.” She continued, her tone muted, “A perspective buyer.”

Tom's heart dropped, and his stomach began to churn. Panic rose up his throat like bile.

“Wh-what? What do you mean? Like a-”

“A perspective buyer for the Ranch.” Natalie spat, turning to face him with steely eyes.

“How could you do that without consulting me first?” Tom demanded, sudden anger overwhelming his horror, “I am the Vice President of the Ranch. I thought we made important decisions together.”

“Yes you are my vice president, but I am the owner and founder.” Natalie replied, firmly, “My husband and I built this ranch from the ground up, and I'm the one who kept it running after he died. It's future is purely my decision.”

“This ranch is my whole life.” Tom protested, tears rising up in his throat.

Natalie crossed her arms and glanced away, “How do you think I feel?”

“I know we've fallen on hard times, but … but this can't be the end. There has to be other options.” Tom argued, desperation suddenly clawing inside his chest.

“I already took out a sizable loan.” Natalie replied, discreetly dashing a tear from her eye, “If I don't sell to someone who can give me a profit, I'm going to go bankrupt. Don't you get it, Tom? There's no money left. We're too far behind.”

Tom took a step backwards, feeling his world spin.

First Bill … Now this. What would he do if the ranch went under? Where would he go?

“I'm sorry.” Natalie whispered, hanging her head, “This was never how I wanted to see this ranch end.”

“Of course not.” Tom whispered, gently putting his arms around her, “Neither did I.”

Clearing her throat, Natalie pointed to the opening gates of the Ranch, “Here he is now.”

Tom looked up to see a black SUV rolling through the gates, leaving a cloud of dust in it's wake. The Suburban gleamed jet black in the sunlight, but the illumination provided little knowledge to it's owner through the black-tinted windows.

Natalie wiped her tears and stiffened her spine, “If I'm going down, I'm going to do it proudly.”

“I'm right next to you.” Tom replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

Together, they walked down the steps and approached the vehicle which parked a few yards in front of the main house.

The driver climbed out of the front seat, wearing a suit and tie, his eyes shaded with dark sunglasses. Looking more like secret service than security, he walked to the back door and pulled it open for the man who would most likely be buying them out.

Stepping out of the car and into the midday sun, the young man adjusted his aviator sunglasses and and ran long, manicured fingers over the crest of thick, black hair. His gleaming leather boots crushed gravel and his black suit jacket flapped around his slender waist as he marched confidently toward them.

Tom's steps slowed to a grinding halt as they drew closer; his heart suddenly found difficulty in functioning properly. Disregarding the fancy clothing, elaborate entrance and the passage of time, the moment was keenly familiar to the first time Tom had laid eyes on him.

Bill whipped the sunglasses from his nose as a charming smile slashed across his face.

“Hello, Tom.”

 


	43. Changed

The deafening silence lasted for several moments before Tom managed to find his voice.

“Bill, what … what are you doing here?”

Drawing the button and clasp of his suit jacket together, Bill cast a light gaze at Natalie, “I'm here to discuss terms of purchase.”

Tom slowly joined Bill in staring at Natalie, who, though wide-eyed, didn't seem too shocked at Bill's arrival.

“You knew it was him?” Tom asked, his voice quiet and strangled.

Natalie licked her lips and tilted her chin upward, “Yes, Tom.”

“Don't blame her.” Bill said in a smooth, soothing tone, “I asked her not to tell you until I arrived.”

Blinking rapidly, Tom felt his feet stumble of their own accord. His head spun like a top, touching the ground, but not quite stable. Every scenario he had imagined of Bill coming back to him hadn't looked anything like this sickening scene that played out before him now.

Bill was nothing like he had imagined – or hoped.

Clenching his hands into fists, Tom attempted to steady himself. He lifted his chin and met Bill's gaze directly.

“Why?”

“I didn't want any preconceived notions.”

“Such as?”

Bill glanced away, biting his lip. With the sun glancing off his golden brown eyes, Tom almost caught a glimpse of the boy he had come to love four years ago.

“Perhaps it would be better if we talked inside.” Bill suggested, after a long beat of silence.

“Yes, we can talk in my office.” Natalie agreed, eager to veer them away from an impending cliff of questions and demands.

Natalie and Bill started back toward the main house, but Tom lingered, his gaze broken off and distant, heart disturbed.

It was as if one of his nightmares had come to life, presenting this sleek, adult, changed Bill like some taunting replacement for the old one.

“Tom.”

Tom's head jerked up to see Bill approaching him once more. Stroking a hand over his short, black hair, Bill drew in a deep breath.

“Preconceived notions.” Tom whispered through clenched teeth, “Like what? That you might be here to tell me what the hell happened four years ago? That I might finally understand why you dumped on the street like trash?”

Bill blinked rapidly, a sudden sheen glistening in his eyes.

“Tom...” He whispered, hurt seeping into his tone.

“You know, I saw you in a magazine a couple of months ago.” Tom added, his eyes cutting back to Bill's, “I read the article, and for a second I was actually happy. I thought, if you're happy, then maybe I can put this to rest.”

“So what's this?” Bill asked, motioning to Tom's defensive stance.

“You're here, ruining that stupid fantasy.” Tom replied.

He shoved past Bill, causing their shoulders to brush briefly but firmly. He strode blindly up the front steps of the main house, blinking and swallowing back harsh tears. His heart was smarting as if scalded; anger raced through his veins, yet at the same time, he wished he could take his harsh words back. His disappointment did little to quell the memories of the two weeks they had spent together, and the enduring love that had refused to fade despite years of separation. It had been but a few months since he'd given up hope on their being reunited; he was a fool to think anger could overwhelm passion, yet he had to try because the manner of Bill's return felt like betrayal.

Tom could feel Bill following behind him, but said nothing until they reached Natalie's office. Tom held the door open, allowing Bill to step inside, and Tom another look at him.

The clothes were expensive, each piece probably worth enough to pay off some of the Miranda's debts. That long, silky hair Tom had so loved to run his fingers through was replaced by short, gelled back strands that gave Bill an air of professionalism. No mascara or lip gloss marked his face, and his nails were clear of polish. It was as if every trace of the Bill Tom had once known was gone.

“Please, have a seat.” Natalie said, diplomatically, “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Bill waved a hand, “I don't drink.”

Natalie smiled, lightly amused, “I meant water or soda.”

“Oh.” Bill remarked, an apparent blush rising on his cheeks, “Right … Thank you, I'll have water, then.”

“Tom?” Natalie inquired.

“No.” Tom said, taking a seat in the chair next to Bill's.

Natalie poured herself and Bill water before taking a seat behind her desk.

“Okay.” She said, drawing in a deep breath.

Quiet ensued, Natalie gazing with wide-eyed trepidation at the young millionaire seated across from her. A glint of denial shone her eyes; she clung to the last moments of owning the one thing she had poured her life into.

“Do you have documents drawn up?” Bill urged, at last.

“Yes.” Natalie said, shaking her, “Yes, I'm sorry.”

Tom gritted his teeth as she opened one of her desk drawers and withdrew a folder. Stretching her arm out, she gave the file to Bill.

“That's an inventory of all the buildings, livestock, and other assets of the ranch along with the deed, and the document of sale.” She informed.

Bill flipped the file open and skimmed through the documents, his brow knitted in concentration.

Tom could hardly believe what he was seeing. He was fully aware of Bill's position as CEO, and yet, physically seeing the evidence defied belief. The Bill he had once known would never have the patience to read through those documents, much less run a company.

“You've built quite a ranch.” He murmured, running a cleanly filed fingernail down the page of assets.

“I've worked to build it from the ground up most of my life.” Natalie replied, her tone quivering with sadness, “That's why I've been very picky about who I sell it to.”

Bill's eyes flicked to hers and a smile crossed his lips.

“I'll take that as a compliment, ma'am.”

“As it was intended.” Natalie replied, “Despite how our acquaintance ended all those years ago, I've come to believe that you are a kind and savvy businessman that takes good care of his acquisitions.”

“Insightful of you.” Bill smiled, “I appreciate it. If everyone were to judge me by my actions four years ago, they would all find me of little to no value.”

Tom gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from Bill.

“You disagree, Tom?” Bill asked, noting Tom's grimace.

Tom directed his gaze back to Bill, but found himself speechless under Bill's sharp, burning gaze. He shifted anxiously in his chair and tried vainly to clear his throat.

Bill's eyes melted a bit and a bittersweet smile ghosted his lips, “Well … perhaps not everyone.”

The words held kind intention, but they only served to twist the knife deeper into Tom's heart. He glanced away, fighting back a fresh wave of emotion. It hurt terribly, being caught between hating and loving the man beside him.

“Well … are you interested?” Natalie prodded, after several moments of silence during which Bill flipped at least three times through the papers.

“I didn't come out here to negotiate.” Bill replied, flashing a brilliant smile, “I came out here to buy.”

“You don't need to consult anyone … or have a lawyer look over the papers?” Natalie asked, surprised.

“No.” Bill replied, slapping the file shut and putting it back on the desk.

“You'll sign today?”

“Yes.” Bill replied, “Your asking price is pretty high.”

Natalie's nostrils flared and her chest rose sharply, “This ranch is worth a lot, Mr. Trumper. I've put my entire being into it. Not to mention all the staff that will be put out of work if-”

“I'll double it.”

Bill's calm remark cut like a knife through the room, momentarily disabling Natalie's speech. Both she and Tom gazed at Bill in shock, while Bill coolly smiled back at them, utterly pleased.

“You'll...” Natalie choked out.

“I'll double your asking price.” Bill clarified.

He casually sipped at his water as Natalie and Tom grappled to believe what they were hearing.

“That's... that's ...”

“A lot of money.” Bill finished Natalie's weak protest, “But what can I say? This Ranch changed my life – it's worth more than some pocket change to me.”

“You're serious?” Natalie whispered.

“Yes, I don't joke about business transactions.” Bill replied, “That said, I would sign the papers today, but they'll need to be altered with the new price. I trust you have somewhere for me to stay?”

Natalie stared blankly at him for a few moments before jolting to speech, “Yes, yes! Yes, of course! I have staff cabins open. I'll have some of the cleaning staff make one up for you.”

“Thank you.” Bill smiled, “Dinner is still at seven?”

“Yes.”

“Breakfast at eight?”

“Yes, it's all the same.”

“I'll be there.”

He rose swiftly from his chair and dipped his head to both of them, “Excuse me, I have a few business calls to make.”

Disappearing from the room, Bill left them both in a shocked daze, speechless for several quiet moments.

At last, Tom cleared his throat and scraped a hand through his hair, “That … was unexpected.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” Natalie said, moving around the desk to sit next to Tom.

“It's okay.” Tom waved a hand, “I wouldn't have wanted to get my hopes up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please.” Tom snorted, “He's nothing like the kid I knew.”

“Of course not.” Natalie replied, reaching over to squeeze Tom's arm, “Four years does a lot to change a young person. He's an adult now, with his own life and a business to run.”

“It's more than that.” Tom muttered, staring duly at the floor, “He's …”

“I know.” Natalie smiled, lightly, “He's not scared or broken or helpless. He doesn't need you to save him anymore.”

“You think this is about pride?” Tom snapped, jerking his arm from her grasp, “You know me better than that, Nati.”

“Do I?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

Tom sighed deeply and plunged his face into his hands, “I don't know anymore … I can't … I can't accept that he just came back here to buy the ranch out from under us and then disappear from my life again.”

“I doubt it.”

“What do you think?” Tom asked, gazing up at her helplessly, “Because I feel like I'm getting played.”

“Bill Trumper was and is a lot of things, but cruel and devious were never one of them.” Natalie insisted, “He's not here to hurt you.”

“Really? Because it feels like he's knifing me in the chest.” Tom whispered, his voice choking at the end.

“Why is that?”

“He comes in here with his big fancy car, nice clothes, suave attitude … It's like we never happened. Like … like he's 'too good' for me now.” Tom explained, sadly.

“No, Tom.” Natalie whispered, running hand over his back in slow circles, “No, I don't think so.”

“How would you know?” Tom murmured, “You don't know him like I do.”

“But you don't seem to know _this_ Bill, either.”

“Maybe I don't want to.”

“Maybe you should try to understand him.” Natalie suggested, slipping her fingers under his chin and lifting his eyes to hers, “Go talk to him.”

“No, no, I can't.” Tom argued, pulling away, “It's too soon.”

“Too soon? Tom, you've been waiting four years for this, much to my chagrin, and now our roles are reversed? Go talk to him!” Natalie exclaimed, bewildered.

Tom slowly rose from his chair, but balked in front of the door, dread churning in his gut.

He'd thought of so many things to say in the event that Bill came back, but now, none of those flowery words and proclamations of love applied. He had never imagined it this way.

“Tom, go.” Natalie urged.

“Fine.” Tom said, holding up a hand, “But don't worry if I don't come to dinner. I might be in my cabin hanging myself.”

“Tom.” Natalie said, sternly, “Go talk to him. He's not the enemy. He's the same person you knew, and I bet if you say the right thing, he'll open up.”

Tom drew in a deep breath and grabbed the door handle with a sweaty palm.

The trek downstairs, through the mess hall, and the lobby, to the front porch seemed agonizingly long. Tom's eyes desperately searched for Bill, until he burst out onto the porch, and came to a grinding halt.

Bill sat on the steps, a cigarette burning a trail of smoke into the air, his eyes set on something distant and troubling.

Instant memories branded themselves across Tom's brain.

 

_Aren't you a little too young for those?_

_I started when I was fifteen. Stole some from my mom's stash, and ended up getting hooked._

_Does she know?_

_Of course not. She doesn't pay attention to me..._

 

Tom shook his head and gingerly approached Bill.

“Still smoking those, I see.”

Bill glanced up, startled, but smiled lightly when he saw Tom, “Yep. They'll be the death of me, but at least I'll die happy.”

Tom pursed his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on Bill's figure crouched on the stairs. Outside the office, he seemed less rigid – perhaps Natalie was right.

“So, how did you happen to hear about the ranch being for sale?” Tom asked, sitting down a few feet away from Bill.

“Oh, you know... I'm always looking for new acquisitions. I like to renovate or save failing projects.” Bill replied with a wave of his hand.

Tom narrowed his eyes. Despite the years separating them, Tom knew a carefully constructed lie when he heard one.

“I'm glad it's you and not someone else.” Tom opted to say, “I don't know if I could trust someone else to take care of the ranch.”

Bill pressed the cigarette between his full lips and sucked ardently. The steam rolled out of his nostrils with the next breath, giving him the look of a resting dragon.

“I'm glad you're glad.” He replied at last, tapping his ashes over the side of the railing.

Silence lengthened between them, and Tom began to squirm. He'd thought of nothing but this moment for nearly four years – now he was at a loss for words.

“You're just like I remember.” Bill murmured, keeping his eyes fixed to the distance, “Soft and hard all at once.”

Tom swallowed hard, “Is that so?”

“Mm.” Bill hummed, nodding slowly. Taking a steady drag of his cigarette, he focused on the quickly disintegrating tip, “At first, all you see is rough edges – then you look more closely.”

“When I look at you, all I see is a polished mask.” Tom replied, boldly, immediately regretting the words.

Bill's eyes at last met Tom's, sparking with the first familiar gaze Tom had looked upon since Bill's arrival.

“I am who I am.” He replied, spreading his hands, “That's how it's always been, Tom. You get what you see.”

“Please, don't tell me you only came here to buy the ranch and leave again.” Tom spat, sudden, hot blood boiling up to the surface.

“I came here to save you and Ms. Franz from drowning in debt. You think the least I could get is a goddamn thank you.” Bill snapped, jumping up from the steps and hurling his cigarette over the railing.

“I can see you have the same old attitude.” Tom retorted, rising to face Bill.

Bill seethed for several moments, arms crossed tight across his chest, jaw clenched. Tom was surprised by his own boldness, but he wasn't about to let Bill see it. He wanted the truth, not some bullshit story about business acquisitions, and a sleek, shiny facade.

“You're still here on this ranch, waiting for me to come back, aren't you?” Bill questioned, at last, “Expecting me to be the same? Hoping I'll fall right back into your arms?  
“No.” Tom replied, heatedly, a lie told with brazen pride.

“Maybe you're the same, but I'm not.” Bill said, casting a defiant glare at Tom, “You want to know what I did for the last four years? I went home, fucked a lot of boys, considered marrying one, made myself a modeling career, and then decided I wanted something better and made myself the CEO of Gordon's company. What the hell did you do?”

Speechless, Tom watched as Bill stomped his way down the stairs and started across the open field, arms swinging stiffly by his sides. His pride stung as if it had taken physical blows, but somehow it hurt a lot less than the fact that Bill had moved on from him so easily.

And yet, the pain in his chest didn't stop him from running down the steps to pursue Bill.

“Bill, wait.” Tom shouted, jogging after Bill's distancing figure, “Bill!”

Bill either didn't hear him or pretended not to for several moments, but as Tom's cry brooked on desperation, his angry stride came to a slow stop.

Tom rushed to Bill's side, his heart pounding and aching, his breath stolen from his lungs.

“Bill, wait.” He panted, pulling Bill around to face him, “Why … Why are you angry with me?”

Bill wrenched himself out of Tom's grasp, “Why are _you_?”

Tom took a step back, breathing heavily, “I don't know, Bill … It's just … I thought things would be different.”

“Well life it's fair, boo hoo.” Bill snapped, his cheeks flushed and his eyes flashing.

“You're right.” Tom said, holding up both hands, “I was stupid to think that after so long you would be the same.”

Bill let out a deep breath, and with it, his defenses seemed to weaken.

“What I said … That was probably a little harsh.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“Look...” Bill murmured, extending a hand, “Do you wanna … Maybe meet in your cabin after dinner? Talk about some things?”

Tom nodded, gratefully, “Yes, I would like that.”

“Okay.” Bill nodded. He lingered awkwardly for several moments before pulling his iPhone out of his pocket, “Well, I guess I better go actually make those phone calls.”

“Yeah, I'll see you at dinner.”

Tom watched as Bill walked away, both fear and joy assaulting him at the thought of private conversation in his cabin.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting to be the outcome, but he knew he couldn't survive if Bill walked out of his life again. He just couldn't.

Bill was the same in some ways, yet totally different in others. Tom couldn't predict his actions anymore, more than he could predict the changing of the weather. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he left again?

What if?

Tom could only hope, pray – and count down the hours until they were alone in his cabin.

 

 

 


	44. Eclipse

“So what's it like?” Andreja asked, her excited tone blasting through the tiny speakers of Bill's iPhone.

“Exactly like I remember.” Bill replied, gazing out the window of his cabin, “It's surreal.”

“I bet it's beautiful out there.”

“It is.” Bill agreed, gaze dragging across the stretch of green field, bordered by distant, white-peaked mountains that speared to a cloudless blue sky, “If all the memories weren't here, I would say I could vacation here for months.”

“And you would need it. You never take a break.” Andreja chided, lightly.

“Because I don't need one.”

Silence hung over the line for several moments; Bill could practically hear the questions building behind Andreja's sealed lips.

“Oh, come on, I know you want to ask more.” He pressed, a faint smile crossing his lips.

“I'm not trying to pry.” Andreja replied, sheepishly, “I'm just-”

“It's okay. Ask whatever you want. I'm not trying to hide anything.” Bill allowed

“What about Tom?” Andreja asked, hurriedly, “What is he like? What did he do when he first saw you?”

Bill massaged his forehead with thumb and forefinger, soothing back the first hint of a headache searing through his temples.

“He's the same … yet so different.” He murmured, eyes fixated on the horse barn several yards off.

“What do you mean?”

“He looks the same, mostly. That rugged, older look … Sad in the eyes. The same rough exterior, hiding a gentle heart.” Bill finished with a sad sigh, “How I thought he could ever hurt anyone is beyond me.”

“You were scared and angry back then.” Andreja replied, softly, “Gordon was feeding you lies about him.”

“His child is dead, that I know is a fact.” Bill replied, “But I'm sure he didn't hurt her … Maybe I never was. I just wanted an excuse to run away from the Ranch.”

Andreja was silent for several moments before inquiring, “So, what's different?”

Bill rubbed his temples harder.

“He's angry.” He whispered, “Not just sad anymore; angry.”

“Oh no.” Andreja whispered, “I'm sorry, Bill. I really didn't mean for you to go out there and get hurt-”

“No, it's okay.” Bill interjected, “He has good reasons. Unfortunately, I can't argue with that.”

“So you went out there for nothing?”

“No – at least I hope not. We're meeting after dinner to talk.”

“Meeting alone?”

“Yes … To _talk._ ” Bill insisted, though he had to admit, the very thought of being alone in a room with Tom gave him ideas to persuade Tom not to be angry anymore...

“Mhmm.” Andreja hummed, unconvinced.

“This is serious.” Bill reiterated, “It's not just about sex anymore.”

“Okay, sorry.” Andreja replied, “But I thought you said you were always in love with him, not just the sex.”

“I was a teenager.” Bill replied, “And a very stupid one, at that. I'm not even sure what I was thinking. I mean, I thought I knew, but now that I'm out here, facing him again, everything seems uncertain. I don't know how to deal with him angry.”

“This was my idea.” Andreja said, guiltily, “Maybe I was wrong.”

“No, I'm glad I came. You were right about me needing to figure out what happened between us. If I didn't come out here, I would spend the rest of my life wondering and letting it hold me back.” Bill explained, sauntering back into the kitchen.

He snatched the pack of cigarettes from the table and plied one away from the rest. He didn't drink anymore, but he sure as hell smoked; and the stress of being back on the Miranda was doubling the habit to an unhealthy extent.

“Do you think you still loves you – despite being angry?” Andreja asked, softly.

Bill pursed his lips hard around the cigarette and focused on the flame of his lighter as it burned into the tip.

“I couldn't say.” He replied, at last, “He seems more confused than anything.”

“Everything you told me … I thought he would be happy to see you.” Andreja replied, disappointed.

“No, I was afraid of this.” Bill murmured, breathing in calming nicotine, “And I don't know what to do. I didn't come back here to be that stupid, angry little kid he knew; if that's what he wants, I'm going to leave here empty handed.”

“I'm sorry, Bill.”

“It's not over yet.” Bill replied, “I came here for a reason, and I'm not leaving until I have the answers I want.”

 

~

 

Bill entered the mess hall in full Mr. Trumper, CEO character. He knew some of the same staff here would remember him and the trouble he caused. Stepping into the dining area felt like stepping into a den of lions; that fact, despite all other alterations on the ranch, had not changed.

Without requesting permission, Bill strode the head table and took the second chair, the same one he had always retained. Tom was not yet present, but Natalie sat with stiff posture at the head of the table.

“Mr. Trumper, I'm glad you could join us.” She said, smiling pleasantly.

“I wouldn't miss it.” Bill dipped his head.

Such pleasantries, he had learned in the past year, were more easily endured than belligerent behavior, no matter how fake the smiles.

“I was thinking of making the announcement tonight.” She said, keeping her voice low so that conversation didn't go any farther than their ears.

“Perhaps we wait until tomorrow.” Bill suggested, “When I have the papers signed and everything is legal.”

Natalie tilted her head, “I wouldn't want to keep you any longer than necessary.”

Bill took a sip of the water set before him and gave her a sly smile, “Ms. Franz, we both know I intend to stay longer than a day.”

Natalie pursed her lips, suddenly overcome by a blush. Her nostrils flared lightly in subdued distaste.

“If you plan to challenge me, or sabotage me let's do it some place more private than the dinner table, shall we?” He suggested in a smooth and cool tone, adding an arched brow for affect.

Before either one of them could take the conversation further, Tom arrived at the table, slightly out of breath.

“Sorry.” He apologized to no one in particular, “I was in the barns with one of the new fillies. Time slipped away from me.”

Bill glanced over at Tom to find the rancher peeking back at him.

“Still looking over babies, I see.” Bill commented with a tiny smile.

Tom's brow furrowed, and his lips opened as if to protest; at the last moment he instead returned a forced smile and replied, “They still need me.”

Natalie called the guests to attention, proceeding to thank them for a week of enjoyment and memories not soon forgotten.

“Tomorrow is Monday.” Bill said under his breath in Tom's direction, “The barn dance still happens?”

Tom's eyes slid over to Bill, cautious and suspicious, “It does.”

“Mmm, how delightful.”

“I don't usually participate, and I don't recall you being the dancing type either.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.” Bill smiled.

Tom's throat bobbed slowly and he forced his eyes back to his plate. He didn't pursue further conversation as the wait staff rolled the trays out of the kitchen.

Dinner proceeded rapid conversation around the table. Just as Bill had predicted, the topic eventually fell to him.

“You look so familiar to me, young sir.” An older gentlemen across the table waved his fork at Bill, “I'm sorry, but I can't recall...”

“Bill Trumper.” He replied, tone even and polite, “CEO of Trumper Industries.”

“Ah, yes. I remember reading the article in _Forbes_.” The elder man replied, “Quite an empire you've made for yourself.”

“Thank you, but most of the accomplishments belonged to my late stepfather, Gordon – may he rest in peace.”

Bill caught a bewildered frown from Tom's direction, but didn't allow it to affect his persona. He said such nice things about Gordon only in public, when affiliates or competitors were lending ear.

“Yes, a sad thing, being taken so young.” The older man mused, “So unexpected.”

“Unfortunately, Gordon had been taking medicine for his heart for quite awhile, but he was also a heavy drinker and smoker.” Bill explained, voice dripping with sincerity, “Although, I must say, knowing the possibilities didn't make it any less painful.”

“You know,” A third voice joined the conversation, holding less amiability, “You look pretty familiar to me too. But not from _Forbes_.”

Bill glanced up from his plate to see one of the ranch hands gazing at him, a level of animosity in his eyes. Bill recognized him to be Tom's right hand, Randy Cyrus.

Bill pursed his lips and lifted his napkin to daintily wipe his mouth.

“You're quite right, Randy.” Bill replied, meeting the man's gaze directly, “Anyone who has worked here for any amount of time knows who I am.”

Tension rolled across the table like a blanket, gripping those who knew and confusing those who didn't.

“Well,” The older man who an initially addressed Bill broke the silence, “Tell us who you are, Mr. Trumper.”

“I wouldn't advise it.” Randy replied, his gaze steady and stern, “You might sugar coat it too much … _Bill_.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but you don't really know me.” Bill replied, letting the jab roll off his shoulders, “Therefore, you have no place to judge.”

“Guys, I think this conversation is a bit too heavy for the dinner table.” Tom interrupted, leaning closer to break off Randy's direct line of sight to Bill, “There's no need for hostility here.”

“Why not?” Randy asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, “He's the one that single-handedly nearly got you kicked off the ranch, and put the Miranda's reputation down the toilet.”

“I agree with Tom.” Natalie said, rising from her chair, “There's no fighting at the dinner table.”

Randy shrugged and plucked his fork from the table, “No skin off my nose. I'm just speaking the truth.”

“I don't know what's going on here,” The older gentlemen said, “But as far as I can see, Mr. Trumper here has grown into quite a fine young man.”

“It's quite all right.” Bill waved a hand, “The stench of youthful indiscretion doesn't easily wear off. I'm accustomed to warding off such insults as I am to breathing.”

“I apologize.” Natalie said, “I assure you, not everyone feels the way Randy does.”

Randy raised a brow at Natalie and shook his head, “You might be surprised.”

“We all make mistakes as youth.” The older man insisted, spreading his hands, “No one should be more weighed down by it than someone else.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bill replied with an easy smile, “But it hardly bothers me, as I said.”

He let the sentence settle into the dinner party's ears for several moments, before adding, “However, it is of note that Randy's statement wasn't completely true. I myself was a victim four years ago, as I was attacked and brutalized by another guest, who's name I don't see fit dragging unnecessarily into an already pretentious conversation.”

“My God. Brutalized?” The older man gasped quietly.

“I was the unfortunate victim of an assault-”

“Bill.” Tom insisted quietly in his ear, one hand grasping lightly at Bill's sleeve.

Bill glanced over, meeting Tom's protesting gaze.

“Like I said, this conversation is too heavy.” Tom added.

Bill briskly freed his arm of Tom's grip and turned his gaze back to the wide-eyed guests at the table.

“Another boy my own age gathered some friends and saw to it that was beaten in the woods; but I thank God to this day that Tom, here, came to my rescue to ward off further injury. I owe him my enduring gratitude and respect to this day.”

“Sounds to me like the man should be given a medal, not kicked off this ranch.” The elderly man remarked, waving a hand at Tom.

“That he should.” Bill agreed, forcing a calm smile across his lips, “Unfortunately, events of that day were twisted and confused by several individuals, and while justice was served to the boy who attacked me, not all reputations escaped unscathed. I take it to my own personal conscience, but that is not to admit guilt.”

“That's an awful thing to endure at such a young age.” The older gentlemen replied, “May I ask how old you were.”

“Seventeen at the time.” Bill replied, “As you can see, I have taken all the learning and experience I can from the incident and risen victorious from the ashes. A simple lesson right there, not to let anything come between yourself and success.”

“Hear, hear.” The other man replied, lifting his water as if to toast.

“Thank you.” Bill dipped his head politely, “And that is all the story-telling for tonight. Perhaps a lighter subject?”

“Don't you think you're forgetting something?” Randy interrupted once more, “A minor detail about your time here?”

Bill's head whipped to the side to catch the rancher in a fiery glare. If the man meant to reveal he and Tom's affair, Bill would rather jump across the table, nails and teeth bared, than allow him to drag their summer romance through the mud.

“I reiterate.” Bill said, rising from his seat and throwing his napkin down, “I will discuss no further.”

Kicking his chair out of the way, he turned a sickly sweet smile to his dinner companions, “Gentlemen, ladies, enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

Veins still flowing hot with anger, he strode as calmly as he could will himself from the mess hall. His fists shook at his sides, not ceasing to tremble until he was outside in the mild night air, far from prying gazing and condemning eyes.

He anxiously patted for his cigarettes and withdrew them from his pants pocket, along with a lighter. Just as he flicked the flame to life, the front doors of the main house opened and Tom rushed out onto the porch.

“Bill.” He said, sounding relieved when he laid eyes on him.

Bill slipped his lighter back into the pocket and leaned his head back as smoke billowed from his lips.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, stepping closer.

“Perfectly fine.” Bill replied, plucking the cigarette from his mouth, “As I said, Randy's clever little jabs don't bother me.”

“I don't know what came over him.” Tom said, shaking his head, “He's never revealed that kind of malice to me.”

“His opinion doesn't matter to me, nevertheless.” Bill replied, turning his face toward Tom's worried expression, “But I can see it matters to you.”

Tom sighed and scraped a hand through his hair, “I'd rather not be grilled about what happened all over again – especially in front of strangers.”

Bill nodded slowly, and pressed the cigarette to his lips. He drew in a deep breath of smoke and let it pour out in a few heavy sighs.

“So ...” Tom hedged, itching the back of his neck and examining the floor boards, “Did you mean everything you said in there?”

“Every word.” Bill replied, tapping his ashes to the wind.

“Every single word?”

“Well.” He chuckled lightly, “Perhaps not about that son of a bitch, Gordon, but everything else – yes.”

“You owe me gratitude and respect every day?”

Bill frowned, turning to face Tom completely, “I do. That, I don't think, should be called into question. No matter what else happened between us, you most likely saved my life that night.”

Pursing his lips, Tom darted his eyes out to the empty fields, “I suppose … It's just not the thing I choose to dwell on.”

“Nor I, but it happened, and I accept it.”

Tom shook his head and grunted quietly, “Fuck, Bill...”

“What?”

“I don't know how to talk to you anymore.” Tom replied, sighing wearily.

“It throws you that I'm a mature adult?” Bill asked, laughing softly.

“It throws me that you're so calm.” Tom replied, smiling sheepishly.

Bill clicked his tongue and took a quick drag of his cigarette. Blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth, he said, “Sometimes I forget you knew the version of me that exploded at every turn, and challenged any authority figure that came into my life.”

“How could you forget? I think I watched a blow up every single day you were here.” Tom asked, a broader smile cracking across his face.

Bill laughed, long past the childish immaturity.

As he and Tom's laughter faded, he reached over to lace his arm through Tom's.

“Walk with me to your cabin?” He suggested.

“You're not hungry still?” Tom asked, glancing back at the main house.

“I survived on bacon and ramen noodle soup for a year after high school. I'll survive.” Bill replied.

They started off toward the staff cabins, all dark except for the moonlight. The fields were vast and luscious underneath the light of a million stars; for a moment all worry and trouble was eclipsed by the grand scope of the universe that held them. Bill suddenly felt so small, the time between he and Tom not so long.

“I forgot how beautiful it can be out here.” He murmured.

“Mm.” Tom grunted his agreement.

“How calming.” Bill added, his gaze scanning across the field to the silvery face of a moonlit lake. A shiver coursed through him, driven by sharp memories.

“Mhmm.” Tom repeated.

Bill turned his gaze back to Tom's profile which remained set straight ahead, toward his cabin. There were deeper lines he hadn't noticed before, and if the moonlight did not trick his eyes, a few strands of silver at his temples.

“Too bad it's all about to be taken away.” Tom whispered.

“What do you mean?” Bill asked.

They had just reached Tom's cabin, and Tom jiggled his key in the lock as he replied.

“Well, Natalie is selling to the ranch … To you. Everything will change and-”

“Tom.” Bill interrupted, pulling Tom around to face him, “The last thing I wanted to do was come out here and wreck your life … Again.”

Tom's nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. His brows furrowed deeper as his eyes narrowed in on Bill.

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I'm going to do my best to make sure this ranch stays exactly as it is.” Bill replied, firmly, “I have no interest in running it myself or re-purposing it for my company. The fact that you think I would actually want to tear away your and Natalie's lifework is offensive to me.”

He marched past Tom and into the cabin, arms crossed tightly, chin lifted indignantly.

Tom entered more slowly, easing the door shut behind him. Bill could feel Tom's eyes drilling into the back of his head, as if attempting to see inside.

“I wouldn't think the board of your company would be happy about it, then.”

“I didn't ask them.” Bill replied, spinning around to gaze defiantly at Tom, “And if they take up issue with it, I can always pay out of pocket. I am determined-”

“Why?” Tom demanded, throwing up his hands, “Why are you so set on saving this ranch? You spent two weeks here – two horrible weeks, to be more exact – when you were seventeen. Why do you care?”

Bill let out a grunt of disbelief and raised a hand to cover the sting of hot tears in his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Tom … I thought by now you would have realized it's not the ranch I came here to save.”

Tom stared silently across the room at him. Neither of them lifted their eyes to connect gazes, but Bill could sense the disbelief and confusion.

“Well, I ...” Tom began, his voice choked.

“Well, you what?” Bill snapped, swinging his watery eyes to Tom, “You think I would come swooping in here and buy the ranch and then leave you here, high and dry? I would never hurt you, Tom – not again.”

Tom pursed his lips and avoided Bill's searing gaze.

“You're so different.” He whispered, at last, “So self-assured and successful.”

“And that makes me selfish?”

“No.” Tom said, sharply, “It makes you grown up … Mature and past everything that happened here.”

Bill briskly wiped errant tears from his cheeks, and swallowed back the knot in his throat.

“You think I could forget what happened here … What happened between us?”

“No, I don't think anyone could.” Tom explained, “I just thought maybe you had found a way to move on from it. I don't know, maybe found a man that made you happy.”

“I thought I did.” Bill admitted, “But it didn't work out, and that's when I realized why. Because I never moved on the way I thought I had; I never forgot you, Tom.”

He rushed across the room, halting mere inches in front of Tom, close enough to feel body heat and breath. Tom's wide, brown eyes gazed back at him, scared; it was like gazing into the eyes of distrustful puppy that had been kicked too many times.

“Please, say you felt the same.” Bill whispered.

Both trembling hands lifted to touch Tom's cheeks, drawing them closer until Bill's chest bumped against Tom's.

“I did.” Tom whispered, his voice thick and raspy.

Bill pressed his mouth against Tom's without considering logic or risks; he had spent too many years thinking about his mistakes, and he wasn't about to make the same ones all over again.

Tom's mouth was warm and wet against his; when his lips parted to accept Bill's, the sweet, familiar taste filled Bill's mouth with memories and promises of so much more.

Bill melted against Tom's chest as pleasure turned his limbs liquid. Angling his head to the side, he crushed his mouth deeper to Tom's and cautiously allowed his tongue to quest toward it's mate. A moan of pleasure began to work up inside his throat as Tom's hands settled on his waist – only to turn cold at the back of his tongue when the touch abruptly changed.

Tom wrenched Bill away from him, tearing their mouths apart and leaving Bill gasping.

“Stop!”

“What?” Bill asked, his heart taking a sharp, painful dive.

“You can't fucking do this.” Tom snapped, his cheeks flushed and his eyes frenzied, “You can't just come back here after four years and act like nothing happened!”

“I thought you wanted me!” Bill yelled, fresh tears swallowing up his recently growing desire, “I thought you were desperate for me to come back!”

“I do; you don't know how fucking much.” Tom replied between heavy breaths, “But this is crazy, Bill. I can't let it happen.”

“Let what happen?”

“I can't let you … I can't sleep with you.” Tom whispered, hanging his head in defeat.

Bill clenched his teeth, fighting back the painful sting of rejection.

“I can't let you leave … I can't let you stay.” Tom sighed, a single tear slipping down his cheek, “I'm just as confused as you, Bill.”

“Bullshit.” Bill whispered, his voice trembling, “Fucking bullshit, Tom.”

He threw himself back at Tom, both arms cinching around his neck. Smashing his mouth against Tom's, Bill channeled all his rage, need, and lust to the lips protesting under his own. He urged his body so hard against Tom's that Tom backed into the wall and stood pinned there for several struggling moments.

Tom forced his hands in between their bodies and shoved Bill back, breaking the tenuous hold around his neck. Bill stumbled backward, barely catching himself at the edge of the table before he could fall to the floor.

“You want it!” Bill raged, “You fucking want it, Tom, and I'm giving it to you, you stupid son of a bitch! Why won't you fucking take it?”

“I won't let you do this!” Tom returned, raising his voice to the level of Bill's, “I won't let you rush in all hot-headed and half-cocked, when you're not really sure of anything – just like you always do!”

Tears blinded Bill's eyes, but he rushed at Tom with all his strength, only to find himself running into the immovable barrier of Tom's chest. Tom slammed him down against the table, pinning him by the shoulders while Bill's legs kicked uselessly through the air.

“You can't just fill in the gap of four years with sex. You can't just act like nothing happened.” Tom insisted, giving Bill a frustrated shake, “You can't fucking do this to me, Bill.”

“Get off me!” Bill screeched, thrusting up against Tom's body in an attempt to break himself free, “Get off, you're suffocating me!”

Tom eased up, but not enough to allow Bill off the table.

“I don't even know what's happening here.” He whispered, gazing deeply, passionately into Bill's eyes, “I thought I knew, but now you're here and … and I don't know anymore. It's not so black and white anymore. So, I'm sorry, but I can't. I want to more than you know, but I just can't.”

Silence, except for their heavy breathing, overtook the room. Stripped of words, their eyes alone spoke to each other. Truth and longing lay deep in Tom's – the purity that Bill had once tested and grown to admire.

“Okay, let me up.” Bill said, quietly, “I understand.”

Tom leaned back, allowing Bill to stand upright. Flushing, Bill straightened his jacket and tie. Such outbursts were below Mr. Trumper, CEO, but somehow, Tom had brought out a side of himself he hadn't seen in a over a year.

“Go wash your face and we'll talk about it.” Tom said.

It wasn't a suggestion.

“I will, thank you.”

Clearing his throat, Bill dipped his head and escaped to the bathroom.

Facing himself in the mirror, he gave a low growl and shook his head.

“Smooth move, Trumper. Smooth.”

He splashed water on his tear-stained cheeks and patted away the damp with a towel. It didn't erase the red puffiness, but at least the moist evidence of the shameful outburst was gone. He threw the towel at the sink and marched back into the kitchen, his ego barely intact.

He arrived to find Tom pouring him a glass of water and pulling out a chair for him.

“Thank you.” Bill murmured, taking the offered seat.

Claiming a second chair, Tom turned expression to Bill, all signs of concern concealed from his eyes.

“So, tell me about it.” He suggested, “What have you been up to the past four years – besides running the company, I mean.”

“Are you serious?” Bill asked, raising an eyebrow, “We're going to sit here and talk like nothing happened after what just-”

“Yes.” Tom interrupted, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Bill nibbled his inner cheek and shook his head, “All right, whatever you say, Tom.”

“I just want to know who I'm talking to before I start getting … entangled.” Tom replied, spreading his hands.

“You know who you're talking to.”

Tom shrugged, “A lot can happen and change in four years.”

“But-  
“Bill,” Tom said, exasperated, “Is it a crime that I want to know how you've been doing?”

Bill ducked his head, “Right … No, of course not. I apologize.”

“No need.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything.” Tom replied with a brief smile, “Everything.”

Bill glanced at his watch, then pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket.

It was going to be a long night.

 

 


	45. Good Deeds

 

The delectable scent of bacon and eggs permeated the mess hall as Tom took his seat at Natalie's side the next morning.

His best friend was giving him a side gaze that begged for answers. He ignored her for a few moments as he loaded his plate with extra hashbrowns, meanwhile turning over what he might say to her.

At last, he set his fork down with a sigh and directed his gaze to her flitting eyes.

“Okay. All right.” He said, holding up a hand, “I'll let you in on the big secret...”

She pursed her lips and nodded formally, as if she thought he couldn't see her brimming with questions.

“I didn't sleep with him.”

“Tom, that's not-”

“Sure it's not.” He interrupted with a cynically raised brow.

She sighed and sat back against her chair, “Okay, so I was a little worried, but ...”

“You've known me a long time, Nat. You know I'm not that reckless.”

She cocked her head and shrugged, “I also know that once you get something in your head, you don't stop until you get what you want.”

“Well, I don't know about that, but I always plan the logical path to the end.” Tom asserted as he stabbed his fork into steaming, golden-brown hashbrowns.

“Good morning, all.”

Tom glanced up to see Bill approaching the table, fully dressed and smiling pleasantly. He almost choked on his hashbrowns.

“Good morning.” He managed, around a mouthful of food.

Bill was wearing a navy blue blazer with bold, gold buttons, a white v-neck and navy pin-striped pants. Out of his impeccable suit from the night before, he looked like the model Tom had once glimpsed in a magazine.

“This looks delicious.” Bill commented.

He filled his plate with generous portions of bacon, hashbrowns, eggs, and toast – the most food Tom had ever seen him eat, if memory served correctly.

“I'm glad to see you here.” Tom remarked.

“Your tone suggests you doubted I would show.” Bill replied, mischief lacing his tone.

“Well, we were up pretty late last night.”

“I have to be up every morning at six o' clock to get to the office.” Bill replied, “Eight o'clock is me sleeping in.”

Tom raised his eyebrows, “Things _have_ changed.”

“I think it's common for a teenager to go through the sleeping late phase, but it's a part of maturity to accept the alarm clock each and every morning and work thereafter.” Bill replied, nearly smug, “I've reached that point.”

Tom's smile faded when he glanced across the table to see an empty seat.

“Natalie, where's Randy?” He asked.

“I told him to get his shit together.” She replied, unapologetic, “And that it's inappropriate to attack guests the way he did last night. I didn't mean for him to skip public meals, but if he took it as such, then maybe his attitude needs adjusting more than I thought.”

“I apologize.” Bill interjected, “I didn't mean to cause issues here.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Natalie insisted, “He was out of line.”

“Yes, but I did realize my presence may bring up some old problems that were never quite smoothed over.” Bill replied, the cheery glow on his face fading, “I left quite abruptly, leaving some level of devastation behind me.”

“That's over-stating it a bit.” Natalie assured him, “The people responsible for the problems were dealt with – you were not among the guilty.”

“Thank you … I have to say, despite my conscience, I'm glad to see you still know how to keep everyone in line around here. I don't think anyone could replace you.” Bill said.

Natalie expression darkened further, “Unfortunately, someone might have to.”

Tom reached over to give her hand a supportive squeeze. The very thought of the ranch being taken away from Natalie made his insides turn.

“Natalie, Tom,” Bill addressed them both with a confident smile, “I've been on the phone all morning with my lawyer and my company, getting all the paper work set straight for the purchase. I'd like to speak to both of you later on when you're free to discuss the changes.”

“It sounds like things are finalized.” Natalie observed.

“They are.” Bill said with a nod, “The ranch is safe again.”

Conversation continued lightly, opposite of the tension from last night's dinner. Tom observed Bill from the corner of his eye throughout the rest of breakfast, catching the twinkle in the younger man's eye. Tom didn't know what it meant, but he was determined to find out.

As breakfast concluded, Bill slipped early from the table, plucking his iPhone from his pocket as he headed for the exit. Tom quickly followed, tracing Bill's steps out the lobby and onto the front porch.

Bill leaned against the railing, his phone pressed to his ear. He was mired in deep, but amiable conversation.

“Yes, yes, everything's fine. Thank you for calling … Mhm, I'll update you later … Love you, too. Bye.”

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Bill waved it with a mild shrug, “I have a nagger.”

“Who's that?” Tom asked.

“My friend, Andreja. Whenever I go on trips, she always bugs me for the juicy details.” Bill chuckled, “Don't worry, I didn't tell her anything personal.”

Tom smiled, swaggering closer with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“So,” He said, meeting Bill's gaze, “What's up?”

“What do you mean?” Bill asked, his large, dark eyes blinking innocently.

“You know. With the purchase of the ranch. I can still tell when you're being mischievous.” Tom replied, pointing a finger at Bill.

Bill broke out into a broad smile and waved his hand, “It's nothing bad, I assure you.”

“That much I guessed.”

“Guess all you want.” Bill replied, eyes sparkling, “I'll clue both you and Natalie in later on during our meeting.”

“The suspense will kill me.”

“So be it.” Bill called as he darted down the stairs, “I'll see you later, Tom!”

 

~

 

It was 6:30, just before dinner, when Bill navigated his way to Natalie's office. The door stood open, allowing him to glimpse the boss of the ranch and her vice president engrossed in conversation.

“He just said it's nothing bad.” Tom said, holding up both hands.

“Well, it could mean anything.” Natalie replied, a worried frown on her face, “I don't want to lose the ranch, Tom. Not over money. I'm not done helping people yet.”

“Like you said, Bill isn't cruel.” Tom said, resting a hand on hers, “I'm sure he'll work with us.”

At this point, Bill rapped his knuckles lightly on the door, “I hope I'm not interrupting.”

“No, come right in.” Natalie waved him inside, her smile quick to cover her concern.

Bill stepped inside and eased the door closed behind him. Pulling a folder from behind his back, he approached them both with a smile.

“I have good news.” He said, setting the folder on the desk and opening it, “I spoke to all the right people and everything is in place. All I need is your signature, Natalie, approving the sale, and yours Tom, as a witness.”

“Has it changed much?” Natalie asked, worriedly, sliding the papers from the folder.

Bill leaned casually against the desk and folded his arms, “A bit.”

Natalie's hands shook slightly as she flipped through the papers. Her rapidly skimming eyes came to a halt when she reached the last document.

“Wait, this is ...”

“Natalie, what is it?” Tom demanded, jumping up from his chair.

He snatched the papers from her hand, leaving Natalie gazing at Bill, eyes wet with tears. Bill smiled at her while he patiently awaited Tom to see the surprise.

When he reached the last page, his breath caught and his eyes widened.

“Is this … is this right?” He asked, breathlessly, lifting his eyes to Bill's.

“Yes. It's the deed to the ranch with Natalie's name on it, if my lawyer got everything filled in correctly.” Bill replied with a pleased smile.

“Oh my God.” Natalie whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks, “You're just giving it back to me?”

“Yes.” Bill nodded, “Your ranch was never in danger, Ms. Franz.”

“I'm indebted to you.” Natalie replied, wiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks, “How can I ever pay you back?”

“I don't expect or want you to. I think of it as my apology for all the trouble I caused here; it was a long time coming, but I think this covers it.”

“I didn't think … I never expected ...” Natalie whispered, shaking her head.

“I know what you're thinking.” Bill replied, softly, “But no matter what your opinions of me as a person, I will still continue to have tremendous respect for you and what you've accomplished here. Our personal differences don't undermine the enormity of kindness and compassion you have passed on the all the people who came here, broken and misunderstood. You're the only person who deserves to own and operate this ranch; I won't take it away from you.”

Natalie and Bill gazed at him, speechless, but he could read the joy in their eyes. It gave him more fulfillment than any trouble making he had ever caused in previous years.

“I don't know what to say.” Natalie said, at last, “Thank you seems inadequate.”

“You can thank me by carrying on the way you have for the last fifteen years; by helping people and making the world a better place.” Bill replied. Extending his hand, he grasped Natalie's hand in a firm shake, “I salute you.”

She surprised him by disentangling her hand and wrapping both arms around him. Shocked, he didn't respond for several moments, but at last returned the hug. He glanced up to see Tom watching them with a smile on his face, and misty tears in his eyes. He nodded his head at Bill, a silent thank you.

Natalie drew back, holding Bill's hands in her own.

“Whatever problems there were between us, they're gone now.” She said, sniffing back tears, “You have earned my respect and gratitude more than I ever expected. You have certainly grown into the fine young man you always display at the dinner table.”

“Thank you.” Bill said, his smile widening, “It took a long time for me to get here, but I intend upon making everything right.” He glanced over at Tom, his tone growing serious, “Putting things back the way they should have been years ago.”

 

~

 

After dinner, Bill slipped away quickly while Tom and Natalie were conversing. Noticing Bill's departure, Tom ended the conversation and followed.

He caught up to Bill inside the horse barn. Bill stood at Tony's stall, humming quietly, his fingers gliding over the black, velvety nose. It was a quiet, peaceful glimpse to the youth Tom had come to love those four years ago; despite his initial fears and all that had changed, Tom knew the core of the man he had once known was still there.

“Remember this place?” Tom asked, softly, as he approached.

Bill withdrew his hands from Tony's stall and leaned his back against the door. His eyes wandered over the boards and rafters of the old barn, a hint of bittersweet in his gaze.

“Oh yes.” He murmured.

“We had a lot of fun here.” Tom commented, “Lots of memories.”

“Mmm … It seems emptier than I recall.” Bill noted, glancing down the row of mostly empty stalls.

“Unfortunately, we had to sell some of the horses.” Tom replied, “We really started falling apart about a year ago; that's when we started downsizing majorly, but it was already too late.”

“I'm sorry.” Bill whispered, “I hope with my money you can restore it to it's former glory.”

“Yes, that's what I wanted to tell you.” Tom said, stepping closer to touch Bill's arm, “Natalie got to thank you, but I didn't. She has more rights to this place than I do, but it's been my home for ten years now; I couldn't imagine what would happen if I had to leave, or leadership changed completely.”

“It was my pleasure.” Bill replied with a smile, “I don't want to brag, but I make more than enough money to pay for this ranch and not be hurting; but, to be honest, the emotional and sentimental value is far greater than any dollar amount.”

“Well … thank you.” Tom repeated, squeezing Bill's elbow.

“You're welcome.” Bill replied.

A frown crossed his brow as he cast a gaze down the row of stalls, “Hey, is Prissy still here? Please don't tell me you had to sell her.”

“We didn't sell her.” Tom sighed, sadness chasing away his smile,“She passed away last winter.”

Crestfallen, Bill let his gaze drop to the dusty floorboards, “Oh ...”

“She lived a long life.” Tom said, “And she died painlessly … I'm sorry you couldn't see her again, though.”

“Yeah, me too.” Bill said, lifting a clenched jaw. A mist of tears hung in his eyes, but he quickly rubbed them away with his fingertips, “It's okay … I'm sure a horse like her went to heaven, or whatever afterlife animals have.”

“I'm sure she did, too.”

“So,” Bill said, straightening and clearing his throat, “I just got off the phone a minute before you came in … A meeting got changed at the last minute. I have to fly to New York tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Tom echoed, his heart dropping.

“Yeah, I'm sorry.” Bill murmured, scraping a hand through his hair, “I wanted to stay longer.”

“So, um … Any plans of coming back this way?” Tom asked, hopefully.

“Definitely.” Bill nodded, “Although, I couldn't say when. We get busy this time of year; I can't spare many vacation days. I probably already have a mountain of work piling up on my desk as we speak.”

“No, it's okay.” Tom assured, despite the panic beginning to seize his heart, “You have responsibilities.”

“Sometimes I love them, sometimes I hate them.” Bill replied, “How about we go to my cabin and talk, like last night?”

“Sure.” Tom agreed, only slightly relieved.

Tom pulled the huge, sliding doors of the barn closed behind them and caught up to Bill as he meandered toward his cabin, kicking at dirt clods and keeping his head down.

“So, we heard all about me last night.” Bill commented, glancing up at him, “But what about you?”

“Not much has changed.” Tom said, shrugging, “My duties here are pretty much the same as the last time you were here.”

“Nothing exciting happened?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

Glancing off toward the sunset, Bill shook his head and gave a short chuckle.

“What?” Tom asked.

“I can't believe you're not with someone.” Bill replied, “I mean, a guy like you … I wouldn't even judge you for going back to women.”

“No ...” Tom said, quietly, shaking his head, “No one for me. Just me and the ranch.”

“You didn't even try?”

“Well ...” Tom sighed, “Maybe once, but it was a long shot … And it was soon after everything happened, so I figured I was just looking to fill the void.”

“Mmm. I feel you.” Bill murmured.

Arriving at Bill's cabin, they were quiet as Bill unlocked the door and led them inside. Tom could smell scented candles that he knew didn't come along with the cabins.

Tom scanned the cabin, similar to his own. The bedroom door was open, allowing him to see messy bedding and half unpacked suitcases. A brief case, several documents and a laptop littered the unmade bade, testifying that Bill was just as busy with work as he claimed.

“I still can't believe you're back here.” Tom said, tearing his eyes away from the bedroom.

“Me either.” Bill replied.

He withdrew his cigarettes and drew one from the package with his teeth. Tom watched, momentarily mesmerized by the clench of Bill's lips and the light of the tiny flame against his dark eyes.

“For awhile I didn't even think about returning.” Bill confessed, as he took a seat at the table, “Too much shit, too much pain and memories.”

“That's partially my fault.” Tom replied, sitting opposite Bill, “Trying to hide things from you... God, you must think I'm an awful person.”

“No, no … What Gordon told me about your wife and daughter was a pack of lies, I'm sure.” Bill insisted, “I'd like to hear it from your own mouth.”

“Really? Now? All these years later?”

“Yeah.” Bill said with a shrug, “I mean, it still matters to you, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, I mean-”

“You didn't kill her.” Bill interrupted, softly. His eyes were wide and dark, hopeful, “Your child.”

Tom pursed his lips momentarily and diverted his eyes.

“No.”

“Then tell me what happened for real. All I ever got was Gordon's twisted version of the truth.”

Tom drew in a deep breath and massaged his forehead. He hadn't spoken about Charlotte – or Penny for that matter – in years. He'd left it behind him the day Bill walked away.

“I … I was irresponsible.” Tom whispered, at last, “I turned my back for five minutes. I took her some place unsafe, and let some monster take her.”

“How?” Bill whispered.

“Penny, my wife, was an alcoholic. She was getting reckless, so I took Charlotte away with me, to a hotel. Penny said she was going to call the police and tell them I kidnapped Charlotte. I was scared, young, stupid … I thought the best way to protect my daughter was to keep her away from Penny forever. I wanted custody, so I filed for divorce, and then called up a PI friend of mine to help establish evidence that Penny was unstable. I met with him at a playground one night to talk about it, and that's when …”

“Oh my God.” Bill whispered, setting his cigarette down in the ashtray in order to reach for Tom's hands, “That's terrible. I'm sorry.”

“I was negligent.” Tom whispered, swallowing back tears, “And I'll never forgive myself.”

“They never found the guy who actually …?”

“No.” Tom said, shaking his head, “There was no DNA, no prints … Just her little body, all broken and abused … God ...”

Bill blinked back emotion as Tom covered his face with both hands, hiding the tears coursing down his cheeks. His chest convulsed with pain – pain more excruciating than he had felt in years. It was as if he had become numb to all the heartache and sadness, put a moratorium on the things he had loved and lost. Charlotte was but a dim memory until he allowed the gates open and the memories rush forth.

“It wasn't your fault.” Bill whispered, his fingers clutching Tom's shoulder, “You were trying to protect her.”

Tom slowly lifted his head, revealing eyes wet and puffy.

“But I didn't.” He said, his voice raw and scratchy with emotion.

“All these years.” Bill whispered, shaking his head. His fingers touched Tom's cheeks, sliding through tears, “All the secrets and wondering … God, Tom, I never would have blamed you.”

Tom drew his cheek from Bill's caress and silently wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn't move to speak or stop him as Bill rose from his chair and slowly paced away from the table. He ran his hands through his thick, black hair as a low sigh emanated from his lips.

“I wish I could go back and change this.” Bill said at last, turning to face Tom, “I wish I could change us back then. Tell myself that I could admit anything to you; and tell you the same. We could have handled it right?”

“I don't know.” Tom said, lifting his shoulders, “Maybe … But we can't change it now. What's done is done.”

“So.” Bill said, crossing his arms, tightly, “Are you just ready to give up? Just like that?”

Tom eyed him quietly, uncertain of himself.

“We have this chance in front of us, Tom.” Bill insisted, rushing to Tom's side, “We have this big, glorious second chance. We shouldn't waste it!”

“You just got here ...” Tom began, uneasily.

“I don't care.” Bill said, leaning closer to Tom's face, “I don't give a fuck, Tom. I was so worried I would get here and it would all be different, but for all our misunderstanding and fights I know one thing for sure – I still love you, and I think you still love me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Tom whispered, gazing into the depths of Bill's bright, brown eyes.

“I've always been sure.”

Bill crushed his lips against Tom's, and this time, he couldn't fight.

It just felt like coming home.

 


	46. Ready

The taste of Tom's lips was sweet and familiar, their texture as warm and smooth as Bill had always recalled. He was momentarily lost in the damp heat that took his mouth in, hesitantly at first, but stronger as desire overwhelmed them both.

Tom rose slowly from his chair, urging his lips closer to Bill's. One hand caught on the edge of the table to steady himself while the other reached up to clutch Bill's side. The warmth of his hand seeped through Bill's shirt, sending spark of need through his whole body.

Bill's heart pounded wildly, both desire and fear that Tom would reject him again surging through his veins. He clung to the quickly passing seconds, feeling, as within a dream, their lips joined and their hearts drawing closer.

Tom's grasp on his side tightened, while the other hand asserted claim over Bill's right hip, almost over his buttock.

But just as Bill's fears were nearly soothed, Tom's lips tore away from his own.

“Please, don't...” Bill began, panting, fingers grasping at Tom's collar.

“No, it's okay.” Tom interrupted, pulling Bill closer, “I know I can't let you go again.”

“You mean …?” Bill whispered, searching Tom's eyes for the truth his heart longed after.

“Yes, I want you.” Tom replied, breathless, “I want … I want to pursue whatever this is between us. I'm scared, but I know I can't let you fucking walk away from me again. Not that easily.”

“I'm not walking away.” Bill replied, pressing a quick, firm kiss against Tom's lips, “I wasn't sure before, but now that I'm here I know. This is what I want, Tom.”

Tom's fingers snaked into the hair at the nape of Bill's neck, holding him fast. His lips descended to smear desperate kisses across Bill's lips, cheek, and throat – as if tasting him for the first time all over again.

Bill trembled at his touch, both out of desire and joy. His heart could barely contain the leaps and spasms of happiness while so over run by looming desire. He pressed harder against Tom and felt their matching arousal chafe together.

“You can't tell me you don't want me this time.” Bill whispered, a sly smile crossing his lips.

“I do want you.” Tom replied, his voice low and husky. His fingers curled tighter around Bill's hair, pulling Bill's ear up next to his mouth, “I want to fuck you … I want to bend you over and fuck you until you're coming everywhere, then I want to turn you over and kiss your whole body and put my cock back in you so I can make love to you.”

Bill shivered thoroughly and felt his throat close with desire. His fingers scrambled against Tom's chest, pulling them as close together as possible.

“Yes, yes.” He whispered, his voice trembling, “I want that, too.”

Tom's hand snaked down Bill's stomach, plying his belt buckle and zipper open with eager fingers. Bill gasped aloud as both hands seized the garment and ripped it down his thighs, leaving him in tented boxers and disheveled shirt. Tom's fingers curled firmly around his cock, pressing heat through the cotton of his boxers. Fresh pleasure jolted through his body, eliciting a series of heavy throbs through his cock.

“Tom ...” Bill sputtered, reaching back to grab the edge of the table for support, “Tom, I-”

“Don't speak.” Tom interrupted, pressing a hand over Bill's trembling lips.

Bill pursed his lips and watched wide-eyed as Tom slowly drew the waistband of his boxers down, allowing Bill's erection to press against his stomach. A groan, weak and strangled, rose up his throat, and emitted as a quiet whimpering sound.

Tom slowly pulled the boxers down Bill's thighs, his eyes dark and intent upon the the engorged, reddened rod and full, heavy balls.

Tom closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep, slow breath. His fingertips barely brushed against Bill's cock, but the touch was enough to send a wave of aroused electricity through Bill's body.

“Ahnnn...” The groan twisted it's way past Bill's clenched teeth.

He gripped the table harder, straining to keep his body still while Tom touched him reverently. He wanted so badly to break free and demand Tom take him to the bed, but both his tongue and legs were paralyzed by Tom's searing gaze and hypnotizing caress.

Tom's fingers circled around Bill's naked cock, gathering the aching flesh into a tight embrace. Palm dragging up the shaft, Tom bent closer to impart a brief, yet passionate kiss against Bill's parted, shivering mouth.

“I remember touching you for the first time.” He whispered, his breath hot against Bill's neck, “I wasn't even sure I should … But now I realize, I never had a choice.”

His grip tightened, rising up to swallow the swollen head of Bill's cock, before dragging back down to the base. The almost crushing massage wrenched a moan from Bill's lips. The pressure at his core heightened, a tingling, aching sensation beyond his control. Powerless, he leaned heavily against the kitchen table, expecting the pleasure to take him at any moment.

Suddenly, Tom's hand released his cock, leaving it stand bare and aching for mere seconds before the same hand spun him around. Bill fell across the table, both hands smacking against the smooth surface moments before his face joined them. He instantly lifted his head to see what Tom was doing, but Tom grabbed a fistful of hair and pressed his cheek firmly against the table.

“Lie still.” He murmured, slowly released Bill's hair.

His fingertips followed the bumps of Bill's spine, sparking nerve-endings that hadn't been given so much attention in years. Bill squirmed helplessly against the table as Tom reached his table bone. His heart knocked in his chest with breathless anticipation, forcing short, shallow breaths past his lips. Sweaty palms grasped at the table as Tom's fingers stroked between his ass cheeks, finding the smooth, tender opening with a gentle, precise caress.

Biting harshly at his lower lip, Bill fought back a cry of pleasure. All the muscles at his core went rigid, except for the very center, which turned to liquid, aching heat.

Tom's fingertips rubbed in a low, erotic circle against his hole, creating slow, burning friction and easing the muscles to relaxation. He paused for only a moment to wet his fingertips against his tongue. His fingertips returned damp, rubbing the saliva over the ring of muscle, and slowly easing to the center. Bill arched against the table, a silent cry stretching his lips open as Tom pressed his index finger into the tight heat of his hole. The single finger pressed in to the knuckle, barely stretching him but igniting a burst of unparalleled pleasure inside him.

“Tom ….” Bill managed to make his tongue work for that single word, before the sounds dwindled into unintelligible moaning.

“Oh...” Tom whispered, behind him.

Tom's body pressed closer, and Bill could feel the hard lump of his erection pressing against his leg. Rough denim stretched across the engorged flesh and chafed against Bill's bare leg, multiplying the sensation, heightening Bill's desire.

“Tom, please ...” Bill whispered, his breath heating the table's surface, “I need you.”

Tom slowly pressed his finger in and out of Bill's hole, just barely reaching the prostate.

“I do, too.” He murmured, stroking his palm across Bill's ass cheek, “You don't know how many times I've thought about this.”

“I want you in me.” Bill pressed.

He slowly lifted his face from the table, hoping Tom wouldn't force him back down again.

“Take me to the bedroom.” He whispered, focusing wide, blinking eyes on Tom's expression of lust.

Grasping Bill's cheek with his other hand, Tom pulled Bill around his face him. His palm grasped Bill's ass cheek, while his finger remained buried in Bill's clenching heat. Bill squirmed against Tom's chest, and locked gazes with the other man. He could read the desire deep in Tom's eyes – burning desire which almost concealed the lingering doubt.

“Please, I never forgot you.” Bill whispered, reaching up to cradle Tom's face with both hands, “I could never replace you. You're what I want, Tom. I know that now.”

Tom blinked rapidly for a few moments before leaning in to press his mouth firmly against Bill's. Bill sighed softly against Tom's mouth and opened his lips to accept a deeper kiss. Their lips sealed over one another, taking and giving, trading heat and saliva, until at last their tongues joined in the dance. Bill surged against Tom, curling his tongue forward and moaning at the sweet, familiar taste of Tom's mouth. It was just as he had remembered, and so much more.

Tom's hands skimmed up Bill's ribs and grasped under his arms to lift Bill from the ground. Wrapping his legs around Tom's waist, Bill clung to the rancher as Tom carried him to the bedroom. Tom set him down carefully on the edge of the bed and moved the papers and laptop out of the way at a swift, hurried pace.

Bill removed the rest of his clothes and sank back against the pillows. As his eyes reached the ceiling, a wave of nostalgia overwhelmed him. The cabin was not much different from Tom's; the room, and the desire filling it, recreated the intimate, matchless feeling he had experienced four years ago – a feeling he had never felt anywhere else.

Tom returned to the bed and bent to kiss Bill's mouth.

“Please tell me you have lube.” He murmured.

“I do.” Bill replied with a sly smile, “There's a travel size bottle in my suitcase.”

Tom pecked Bill on the cheek and rushed over to the suitcase. He patted down the pockets until he found the small bottle of clear liquid.

“Always come prepared?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

“Of course. As the CEO of a company, I always have to be thinking ahead.”

“And that includes sex?” Tom asked, a smile stretching across his lips.

“It includes everything.” Bill said with a little shrug.

Tom crawled onto the bed next to him and joined their lips in another long kiss that ended further conversation. As Tom guided the passionate kiss, he smoothed his hands down Bill's soft, naked body, relearning every inch. His fingers teased at Bill's nipples until they were hardened peaks, and his hands felt out Bill's thighs and buttocks, while his cock throbbed untouched. Bill's thoughts and control unraveled at Tom's touch, until he was no more than a puppet responding to the strings Tom pulled.

At last, Tom pulled away, leaving Bill's lips swollen and flushed and his body trembling with need. Keeping his eyes pinned on Bill, he tugged his shirt off over his head and slowly tugged his belt buckle open.

Bill reached out an eager hand as the zipper parted, allowing Tom's erection to protrude. He wanted to touch it, pleasure it, and swallow it down his throat as he had done so many times in the past. His grabbing fingers halted short of their destination as Tom grabbed both wrists and pinned them to the mattress.

“Slow down.” He whispered, his lips grazing against Bill's neck.

“No.” Bill whimpered, fighting against Tom's grasp.

Tom's lips tickled up his neck and reached his ear to pour in exquisite heat, “You will do as I say.”

Bill bit back a moan and felt his cock twitch angrily with need. He didn't know how much he could take, but a part of him wanted to push them both to their limits and beyond. He wanted to know what Tom would do with him after so long.

Tom leaned back once more and finished removing his pants and boxers. His cock came free of the material, rising thick and long from it's confines. It was gloriously red and throbbing with near bursting veins, the flesh stretched tight over burgeoning need. Bill could imagine it smoothness and heat, and the feeling of it's near painful girth driving him open. In that moment, Bill wanted it more than he wanted anything else; it was his basest, most primal need, but he found little shame in that fact. He had waited four years for this union, and he'd be damned if he didn't have that cock any and every way he wanted.

Tom caught Bill's blank, lustful gaze as he knelt on the sheets between Bill's spread legs. He reached down to gently touch it, causing a strangled moan to rise up Bill's throat.

“Tom...” Bill whined, casting an imploring gaze upward.

“Lift your legs.” Tom ordered, taking the bottle of lube in his hand.

Bill was quick to obey, pulling his thighs up against his chest and leaving his backside exposed. The sound of the cap cracking open made his insides jump with anticipation. The pleasure surged ahead of the moment, his mind imagining the possibilities the next several minutes held.

Wet fingertips rubbing against his hole jarred him back to reality, and throwing him into real, tangible pleasure. He grasped his knees, holding himself open as Tom's fingers swirled against his opening. His whole body wanted to curl up into a tight ball of pleasure, but he focused his scattered mind on relaxing. The sooner his muscles gave way to the prepping, the sooner he could have Tom inside him.

Tom's fingers pressed into him, slow and steady. Like the first time, Bill whimpered and squirmed, his body reeling from the pleasure. It had been a long time since he enjoyed the prep as much as the actual intercourse, but Tom made every second worthwhile. His fingers were strong, but gentle inside of Bill, urging him open, applying just enough pressure in just the right places.

“Yes, yes ...” Bill panted, his eyes slipping shut to focus.

“That's good, baby.” Tom murmured, slipping another finger into the tight space.

He caught Bill's ankle in his other hand and drew it to his mouth to kiss the bone. His breath caressed the tender skin, sending shivers through Bill's body. Bill's eyes slipped open to watch as Tom's lips dragged slowly across the curve of the inside of his foot, stopping briefly to nip at the side of his toe.

Entranced, Bill arched sharply and moaned when Tom's fingers pressed deeper inside him. His attention snapped back to his core, where the pleasure mounted and the space inside him slowly expanded.

Bill's toes curled against Tom's shoulder, and his hands drew in fistfuls of the sheets. His heart pounded harder and harder as he felt his body opening to the constant massaging. His desires were so close to fulfillment, so close he could hardly breathe.

Tom shifted another finger inside him, and pumped them all in together. Deep, then deeper, forcing a strangled cry up Bill's throat. Tom's hand was nearly inside him, exerting intoxicating pressure, and the tiniest hints of pain at being worked open so wide.

“Tom!” Bill cried, arching as Tom's fingers pumped harder and deeper, “Tom, please! It's enough!”

Tom's fingers slowed to a gentle massage.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” Bill panted.

Tom smiled briefly before grabbing the lube, this time for his cock. Bill licked his lips as Tom applied a thick layer of lube over his cock, making the thick rod gleam, and Bill squirm in anticipation.

Tom bent over him, guiding the tip of his cock to Bill's hole. The dull, hot tip pressed against the opening, drawing a quiet gasp from Bill. He bit at his lower lip, pacing his breathing, as Tom slowly pushed inside.

Their gazes met, wide and full of pleasure. Tom bent lower, his breath blasting hotly across Bill's cheeks in exhilaration. Lips trembling, he seized Bill's mouth with abandon. Their bodies pressed fully together as Tom gathered Bill's lower lip in his mouth, moaning in pleasure. Bill squirmed under Tom's body, pleasure sparking throughout. Tom's cock was lodged fully inside him, so deep he could hardly breathe, much less process the pleasure rising up to swallow him.

“Tom ...” Bill gasped, pulling his mouth free of Tom's, “Tom, fuck me.”

Tom rose, his hair in disarray, his eyes gleaming with desire. His strong hands turned Bill onto his stomach, and before Bill could even process the sheets in his face, he drove his cock deep into the gaping hole. Bill cried out into the sheets, his fingers scrambling across the mattress to find support. With his fingers tight around Bill's hips, Tom pulled Bill up onto his knees, his ass raised in the air. One hand slid up and planted itself against Bill's lower back, holding him in submission, as Tom's cock pumped into him.

Shallow, gasping breaths rushed from Bill's lips, driven by his wildly pounding heart. His whole body was alive in a way he rarely felt in his life; whatever doubts may have lingered, he was sure they were long gone. This wasn't just sex, as amazing as it was – it was so much more. It was a union and meeting, the power and love shared between true lovers. For a moment, Bill forgot about the past four years, all the pain, and anger, and every man he had slept with in the interim. It was as if he had never left, and the love of his life was pleasing him the way he always had.

Bill came up slobbering and gasping for air when Tom paused to add more lube. He pulled Bill around to face him, and dragged the weak, trembling limbs across his lap.

“Let me see your face.” Tom murmured, fingertips smoothing across Bill's flushed cheek.

Bill smiled, seductively, “You wanna see me come?”

“Mmm.” Tom hummed an affirmative as his lips sought out Bill's.

Wrapping his arms loosely about Tom's neck, Bill slowly lowered himself down on Tom's cock. He savored every inch of Tom's cock sliding into him until it was buried inside him.

Tom gave a low sigh and tilted his head. His brow furrowed slightly as Bill began to rock against him. Their damp skin rubbed together, creating a friction at their connection that persuaded the pleasure higher. Urgent with desire, Bill quickened his pace. He rode Tom's cock hard, his hands braced on Tom's broad shoulders, his head thrown back in pleasure. A long string of moans burst past his lips as he slammed himself down on Tom's large member.

“Ahh...” He moaned, at last, lapsing against Tom's chest.

His muscles burned with exertion and a tight ball of pleasure waited, suspended low in his stomach, on the verge of release. He wasn't ready for it to be over yet.

“I'm close.” He panted against Tom's ear, tasting the sweat on his neck.

Tom gave a gentle shove and turned Bill onto his back against the sheets. Rising over Bill's quivering body, he drew Bill's legs over his shoulders and rammed his cock back to the deepest point.

“Oh God!” Bill cried, his hands curling around the sheets.

Grasping Bill's thighs against his chest, Tom pumped his hips against Bill's ass at a quick, deep rhythm that had Bill moaning and writhing instantly.

“Yes, baby.” Tom panted, his eyes fixed on Bill's expression of pleasure.

“Tom … Oh ...” Bill cried.

His right hand reached down to grasp his erection. Long, slender fingers curled around the engorged, pink flesh, urging pearly drops of moisture to the tip. He could feel the pleasure drawing taut at his core and building toward explosion; he was desperate to finish it.

“That's it, baby.” Tom urged, his eyes glinting at the sight of Bill touching himself, “Do it.”

Bill's adrenaline surged at the sound of Tom's encouragement. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused all his energy on the pressure in his cock and the rhythmic squeezing of his hand.

With Tom's dick pounding away at his prostate and Bill's hand caressing himself, the pleasure broke past that gates to accost his body with all-consuming pleasure. It started as a gentle quiver at his center, and grew to pleasured spasms that ruptured across every nerve-ending. Writhing and bucking, Bill hardly recognized Tom's orgasm as the other man followed him into the pleasure.

Moaning quietly, Bill rolled out of the way as Tom sank to the sheets next to him.

“Oh my god, Tom...”

Tom scooted closer, nuzzling up against Bill's neck. His breath was warm and made Bill's skin tingle delightful.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

“You think?” Bill asked with a chuckle.

Tom wrapped his arms around Bill's middle, pulling him closer. Ignoring the sweat between their bodies, Bill snuggled into the embrace, humming his contentment.

“Yeah, my brain is mush right now so I'll have to give you a real answer later.” Tom replied, grinning.

Bill laughed aloud at the remark. Rolling on his side to face Tom, he kicked tangled sheets out of the way and curled his leg over Tom's.

Tom's dark, chocolate eyes were fixed on him, holding some special form of adoration Bill had nearly forgotten existed. There was a world behind those eyes, one Bill desired years to learn every inch of.

“Was I really gone for four years?” He whispered, suddenly feeling a knot in his throat.

Tom pursed his lips tightly. His eyes darted away from Bill's, focusing on naked skin where his hand anxiously smoothed over Bill's chest.

“Four years.” He murmured, “And I missed you every single day.”

“I know I said this, but I wish things could be different.” Bill said, reaching up to stroke stray strands of Tom's hair, “I wish we hadn't missed all that time.”

“I read your article … In _Forbes._ ” Tom replied, glancing up at him, “You said that you wished you could change things, but then you wouldn't be who you are, and you wouldn't be where are you. I think that's true, no matter the heartbreak-”

“You read that?” Bill asked, trying to recall everything he had said in that interview.

“Yeah … I told myself not to, but I did anyway.” Tom whispered.

He clasped Bill's hand in both of his and drew the knuckles to his mouth. He focused on kissing each knuckle while Bill watched his concealed, yet melancholy expression.

“I missed you, too.” He said, his voice choked.

He wanted to say so many other things, but those four words were the only ones he could settle on that didn't hurt Tom further.

“What are we going to do now?” Tom asked with a low sigh, “I mean, you said you have to go to New York, and you'll be busy for the next couple months, so … I guess we're back where we started.”

“No.” Bill said sharply, pushing himself up onto his elbow, “No, we're not. Things are so different now, Tom. There's no parents telling me what to do, nothing keeping me away from you except the business. I will make it work, I promise you that.”

A brief smile crossed Tom's lips, “This time, I don't doubt you.”

“I let what we have get away one time.” Bill replied, more softly, “Never again.”

He bent down and kissed Tom's mouth with gentle, slow-burning passion. He savored the taste and texture of the mouth beneath his, memorizing the the feeling inside him that this was right. Tom's arms circled around him, drawing him close, and kissing him lavishly in return.

Tom drew back, a smile forming on his lips, “How about a shower?”

“Yes.” Bill agreed, “We probably should.”

Staggering out of the warmth of the sheets, Bill feigned weakness.

“I don't know if I can stand.” He said, turning to face Tom with his lower lip out, “You have to help me, Tom.”

Tom smiled slyly as he rose from the bed, “You don't have to ask twice.”

Bill squealed as Tom lunged at him, one hand grabbing at his arm, the other swinging at his bare ass. He rushed toward the bathroom, narrowly escaping Tom's grasp, but came to an abrupt halt when he tumbled into the small bathroom. Here Tom caught him and pinned him to the wall, smothering him in a kisses across his mouth, cheeks and neck. Bill laughed and moaned as Tom's lips scattered patches of pleasure and goosebumps across his skin, and his hands enveloped both ass cheeks for a long, arousing squeeze.

“Tom! Tom!” Bill cried in protest, slapping at Tom's shoulders, “I can't!”

Tom drew back, smiling broadly, “Can't what?”

“I can't, I can't!” Bill repeated, squirming out of Tom's grasp, “I'll never get a shower with you doing that.”

“Is that so bad?” Tom asked, grabbing Bill's hands and reeling back in.

“No, not normally.” Bill replied, biting his lower lip coyly, “But I have to be up early for a my flight to New York.”

Tom's smile faltered, “Right, of course … I'll let you to it then.”

“Don't look so sad. You're coming with me, remember?” Bill said.

He tugged on Tom's hand, leading them toward the shower. Tom's face brightened, and he followed Bill into the small enclosure. Yanking the curtain closed, Bill turned the water on hot and let every other thought slip away.

An hour later, they lay back in the bed together, hair and skin damp but scented and clean from the shower. Bill held a cigarette in one hand, and laced his fingers through Tom's with the other. If not for the impending trip to New York, the scene might have been perfect.

“I never got to tell you,” Tom whispered, running his fingertips over the inside of Bill's forearm.

“Tell me what?”

“How proud I am of you for taking over Gordon's company.” Tom replied.

“It's crazy, right?” Bill said, shaking his head, “Now that I'm back here with you, I remember everything from my first trip so clearly – everything else seems so far away, even my job.”

“I was always so worried you would grow up never believing in yourself.” Tom murmured, “I mean, back then there were so many voices telling you how wrong you were, or putting you down.”

“Yeah, for a long time I actually listened to them, and believed them.” Bill replied, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, “Finally, I'd just had enough. I was done letting other people dictate my life.”

“I'm sure Gordon being gone helped … Not that I would wish death on anyone, but-”

“No, it's okay.” Bill interrupted, quietly, “You're right.”

Tom's brow furrowed lightly. Questioning eyes gazed up at him, leaving Bill with a familiar weight of guilt in his chest.

He gave a sigh and shook his head, “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Tom asked, anxiously, pushing himself up on his elbow.

“About Gordon.” Bill said, staring firmly at the burning tip of his cigarette, “How he died ….”

“Wait ...”

“No, I want you to hear this.” Bill said, louder this time, “Before we get into a relationship again, I think all the cards should be on the table.”

“Considering how things went last time, I have to agree.” Tom said, chewing his lower lip.

“The night Gordon died, me and my ex-boyfriend were visiting with my parents.” Bill said, swallowing back the lump in his throat, “It was Christmas – that's the only reason we were there. Back then I was really depressed and exhausted. I wasn't sleeping much, so I ended up falling asleep on the couch while my mom and Damien were in the other room talking. I guess I was really out of it because my mom let Damien sleep in the guest bedroom and let me keep sleeping on the couch. I woke up in the middle of the night, still just feeling awful. Me and Gordon had had a fight earlier and I wasn't too happy about still being in that house … That's when Gordon came downstairs. He was a smoker and a drinker, and he had been having heart problems. He was always popping these pills to help counteract the cigarettes and alcohol. He was being his usual self, making rude comments to me and putting down my relationship with Damien, and I'd about had it, when he just fell.”

“Bill, you don't have to-”

“Yes, I do.” Bill snapped, turning his gaze to Tom's wide eyes, “This is important, Tom.”

“Okay.” Tom whispered, leaning back against the headboard.

“Later at the morgue they told us he had a heart attack, but when I was standing over him that night, I didn't care what was happening. I thought about calling 9-1-1, but in the end, I just stood there. I _watched_ him die, Tom. And I didn't do anything to help him.”

“God, Bill...” Tom murmured, glancing away.

“It's twisted, but I actually felt kind of happy and relieved.” Bill continued, blinking back tears, “But then, when I saw my mom crying and the stretcher taking him away, it all set in. I wanted to change things, but it was already done. I might as well have killed him with my own two hands.”

“That's not exactly true.” Tom whispered, squeezing Bill's hand, “You just said he had a heart attack. Who's to say he would have lived even if the ambulance had come?”

Bill shook his head and pressed back the tears in his eyelids.

“No matter what you or I say to justify it, I know it wasn't right. It's inhumane just watching someone suffer and die.”

Tom was quiet for several moments before Tom reached up to turn Bill's chin toward him.

“So,” He said, somberly, “Are you still expecting me to change my mind about you?”

Bill sniffed and shook his head, “No, I just … I've never told anyone about it, and I thought you needed to know.”

“That man abused and tormented you for years.” Tom said, firmly, “I don't care if it's inhumane or not, I'm not sorry he's gone either.”

Bill gave a choked laugh and buried his face in Tom's neck, “Thank you.”

“Look, it's getting late.” Tom said, stroking Bill's hair, “I should let you get to sleep. You have a long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Bill sighed, glancing dourly at the clock, “I just don't want to leave you.”

“You said you would come visit me as soon as you could. We can do this.” Tom replied, lifting Bill's chin with his finger.

Bill nodded, “Yes. Yes we can.”

Tom threw back the covers and began to rise from the bed, “I should get back to my own cabin.”

“Tom, wait.” Bill lunged across the bed to catch Tom's hand before the rancher could leave, “Stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I want as much time with you as I can …. That is, if you don't mind me getting up at five a.m. to leave for the airport.”

“I don't mind.” Tom replied, crawling back onto the bed, “I can kiss you goodbye, then.”

“Right.” Bill smiled, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Goodnight.” Tom murmured.

“Goodnight.” Bill replied.

He reached over to turn the lamp off, plunging them into darkness. It was a few moments before they were settled down under the sheets, Tom spooning Bill's smaller frame, holding on like it was their last night together.

A minute of silent darkness slipped by before Bill heard Tom utter a low exhale and whisper, “I love you.”

Heart skipping, Bill grinned into the darkness and squeezed Tom's hand tight against his chest. He didn't hesitate before replying, “I love you, too.”

 

~

 

It was barely morning when Tom's eyes fluttered open. Dry and tired, his eyes refused to adjust to the dim lighting of the cabin for several moments as he tried to force himself back to sleep.

At last, as the cobwebs fled from his mind, he began to remember and process everything that had happened the night before. The intimate memories and whispers of love jarred his eyes open wider and his hands searching across the sheets.

Disappointment crashed over him as he came up empty, recalling that Bill was probably already gone for New York. For one perfect night, he'd had the one person he'd always wanted in his arms, and now he was gone again – just like that.

Tom lifted his head from the pillow and glanced around the room. The suitcases, laptop and clothes were gone. The only reminder of Bill was the faded scent of cologne that lingered in the mussed bed sheets.

A frown crossed his brow when he noticed a sheet of notebook paper and a smaller, rectangular paper lying on the pillow next to his. Heart picking up it's pace, he reached out a long arm and swiped the papers from the pillow.

His mouth slipped open when he recognized the smaller piece of paper to be an airline ticket to New York, time stamped for today. He stared at it blankly for several moments before setting it aside to read the words written in small, neat handwriting across the notebook paper.

 

_Tom,_

 

_I don't know if this will work, but I have to try._

_Let's not fool ourselves. Four years ago, we met for two weeks here at this ranch and it was like the summer romances I had read and heard about but never thought I'd experience. But, we didn't really know each other very well; at least not the way true partners should. That's not to put down the seriousness or validity of our feelings; it's a simple truth I couldn't accept back then._

_One thing I do know – it felt like my whole life was a failure. Up until that point, it had been nothing but sadness, loss, abuse, and anger. I thought I'd never be happy again. But then you happened. You were the one thing I had – the sun shining past the clouds of my apocalypse. Our limited time couldn't have changed that._

_For that reason, I am asking to come with me today to New York. I know it's a lot to ask, but I am, to be honest, down on my knees begging you to leave the Miranda and come with me. You know for a fact that money is not a problem; I can easily take care of us both, and that's what I want very much. But I know the Miranda has been your home for a long time and it's hard to just up and leave what you know and is familiar. However, I will ask anyways because I think what we had those four years ago was real. It was pure, it was beautiful, and it was real. I want to pursue that, Tom. I want to know what else is there, and I want to find the depth and breadth of our love, and find out if it as immeasurable as it seems. I want to explore love with you; I want to learn with you; I want to enjoy life with you. If possible, I want to grow old with you._

_Even if you don't come with me today, I am extending the invitation to come with me at any time you feel it's right. I can get you a plane ticket as soon as you decide you're ready. I really hope that you're ready today, but I understand if you are not._

_If you do come today, I can promise you several things – 1. I will always take care of the ranch. You can tell Natalie that. 2. I will take care of us forever. And 3. that I will love you unconditionally until you tell me to leave, or until something else tears us apart._

_I'm asking a lot as a man that you've known personally for only three weeks, but I think there are bonds between us that are strong enough to hold us together. I think that two people don't find true love, but that true love finds them. And that's why we can't trust in ourselves, but in that love that has kept our minds and heart connected for the last four years._

_Please, don't take what I'm asking lightly. Consider it seriously, and act as you are most comfortable and confidant with. I'll wait as long as I have to._

_Love, Bill_

 

Tears slipped down Tom's cheeks as he clutched the letter to his chest.

A single word slipped from his lips to shatter to silence of the cabin.

“Bill ….”

 

_~_

 

Natalie juggled a notebook, her cellphone, and her morning cup of coffee in her hands as she unlocked the door of her office. The scent of breakfast that the cooks had just begun preparing wafted up the stairs, and enticed her stomach to grumble.

A frown crossed her brow when she realized she hadn't seen Tom yet that day. Typically, he either greeted her outside and walked her up to the office, or met her here at the door.

She set her things down on the desk and began to consider texting Tom when she noticed the note lying on her desk.

She slowly picked it up, confusion stirring through her mind when she recognized her vice president's hand writing. Her eyes skimmed over the words, absorbing the information, yet hardly processing what the words meant. As the letter concluded with the words “Love, Tom,” she swung her gaze back to the beginning and reread, just to confirm in her heart what her shocked mind already understood.

A sense of surprise, followed by a slower, yet no more potent component of relief washed over her. A year or two ago, she may have reacted out of anger or indigence, but recent events left her at a loss to even consider such behavior.

She'd only ever wanted Tom to be happy. It wasn't until yesterday that she'd accepted happiness for Tom might be far away from her.

She sank to her chair and cradled her face with both hands.

_God, I'm going to miss him..._

 

~

 

Bill tapped his foot anxiously as he watched line ahead of him slowly progress through security. He'd spent the last hour wringing his hands, and wondering if he had done the right thing by throwing such a huge decision on Tom. Despite his remorse, all he could think about was looking up and seeing Tom.

Tom loved him – he had said so himself.

Didn't that mean he would follow Bill to the end's of the earth? Bill certainly hoped so, but he couldn't be quite sure. After yesterday, he wasn't quite sure he had ever been truly in love before.

Bill stared down at his Italian leather shoes and ground his teeth. He hated waiting, and he hated not knowing. The last thing he wanted to do was pass through security and onto the airplane without having Tom by his side. It was selfish, but he hardly cared. He had what he wanted now – at least, he hoped he did.

“Excuse me, the line is moving.”

Bill's head swung up when he heard a woman's polite, but slightly irritated remark from behind him. He glanced up to see a gap of several feet between himself and the rest of the line, where everyone had moved forward and he had stood daydreaming of Tom.

“Sorry.” He muttered, and quickly stepped up behind the person in front of him.

Glancing down, he checked his watch for the hundredth time. He'd been calculating since leaving the ticket this morning, the minimum time it would take for Tom to wake up, see the note, decide on his course of action, and drive to the airport before the plane took off. Time was running out now, as there was only about half an hour now before his flight was scheduled to leave. If Tom had decided in time to come, he would be here at any moment now …

Sighing, Bill scraped an impatient hand through his hair. His heart pounded, and his hands were shaking. It was simple – either Tom came today, or he didn't. But in Bill's restless heart, he felt as if the rest of his life hinged on this moment. Happiness was just within his reach.

A few long, torturous minutes passed, during which Bill dragged his feet closer and closer toward security. At last, he could wait no longer. If he didn't put his carry on bag, shoes, and personal items in the basket now, the irritable looking security guard was going to snap at him.

Bill set his carry on bag down in the basket and bent down to pull his shoe off. He had just set his stocking clad foot on the cold tile when he heard the distant sound of a familiar voice.

“Bill! Bill!”

Bill swung to face the rest of the airport, his eyes dashing off shops, and signs, and the dozens of faces passing through the aisles. It was only a few panicky moments before his eyes found Tom, rushing through the airport with only a small backpack over his shoulders, his hair askew, his clothing wrinkled.

“Oh my God.” Bill whispered, his whole body suddenly trembling, “Oh my God!”

Grabbing his carry-on from the basket, Bill turned and shoved back through the line, ignoring the protests of both passengers and the irate security guard. As he rushed across the linoleum in only one shoe, dozens of stares and raised eyebrows followed him, but he would have noticed them better if he were blind. He was focused only on Tom, who ran toward him, arms outstretched.

They met halfway, their bodies slamming together, and teetering in a close embrace.

“Oh my God, you came.” Bill cried, tears pouring in thick, hot trails down his cheeks, “I was so scared you wouldn't come.”

Tom's arms squeezed around his ribs, so tight they nearly crushed the bones.

“I had to come.” He whispered into Bill's shoulder, “I didn't have a choice.”

“Of course you did.” Bill whispered, leaning back to gaze into Tom's eyes, “You know I'd never force you-”

“You didn't.” Tom replied, wiping Bill's wet cheeks with his thumbs, “You didn't, baby. I just knew it was right.”

“I love you so much.” Bill sobbed, smashing his mouth against Tom's.

Tom kissed him in return, cradling his face with both hands and stroking away the tears with anxious thumbs.

“I love you.” He whispered between Bill's desperate kisses.

When Bill drew back, he sniffed back remaining tears and shook his head, “Look at me, I'm a mess. Making a scene right in the middle of the airport.”

“Don't worry about them.” Tom replied, canting his head toward the clusters of travelers staring, “We should go, right?”

“Yes, yes.” Bill said, glancing back at the dwindling line to security, “It would be silly to miss this flight, right?”

“Right. Come on.”

Tom smiled and draped his arm around Bill's shoulders. They walked together to the security line, where Bill replaced his bag and shoe. The security guard watched them with narrowed eyes until they had passed through the metal detector and gathered their bags.

“That's all you're bringing?” Bill asked, motioning to Tom's backpack.

“You said you could take care of us, right?” Tom asked, nudging him in the side.

“Yes, I can.” Bill replied, lifting his chin.

“Then this is all I need.” Tom replied, leaning over to kiss Bill's cheek.

“You're sure you want to do this?” Bill asked, clasping Tom's hand in his own.

He could see their gate just ahead. This was the point of no return.

“Yes.” Tom replied, confidently, “I'm ready today.”

They walked hand in hand toward the plane that would carry them away from Montana. Bill glanced over at Tom, and for the first time, he didn't see those two weeks, he didn't see the misunderstandings or the pain and rejection. The rest of his life seemed to fade away, or at least it seemed to become unimportant.

He was ready. He was ready to love and be loved. He was ready discover the joys of companionship with the only man he had ever truly loved. He was ready to begin his life.

 

~the end

 

 

 


End file.
